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https://archive.org/details/trialofjameshjohOOjohn 


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THE  TRIAL 

OF 

JAMES  H.  JOHNSON, 

AT  THE  MARCH  TERM,  1859, 

Of  the  Circuit  Court  of  Rappahannock  County  Va,, 

CHARGED  WITH 

JP  The  Poisoning  of  his  Wife, 

<v -j  ••  *i  By  Administering  to  her  Strychnia. 

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:M  'A  His  Liason  with  his  Wife’s  Niece— the  Murder  of  their  Offspring,  ( ,ti‘ 

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TOGETHER  WITH 


A 


M  SHORT  BIOGRAPHY  OF  THE  CRIMINAL, 

TIE  EVUEIC!  ADDUCED  IT  HE  TRIAL, 


vs 


' The  Letters  of  his  Is ar  amour 


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AND  THE 


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Medical  Evidence  adduced  on  the  Occasion, 


INCLUDING  THAT  OF 


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‘rylj  PROF.  R.  E.  ROGERS,  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  PENNSYLVANIA.  ' 

:yD  fllgo,  ao  ^ccotinf  of  il}6  £xeci|iioii. 

•J<*  _  -  . 

L 

(  >  BY  A  MEMBER  OF  TIIE  RAPPAHANNOCK  BAR, 


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QO’Gv 


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•  dWitOWeff S  COLLECT 


-Off 

JAMES  H.  JOHNSON, 

i4#  f'Ae  'March  Term,,  1859,  of  the  Circuit  Court  of  liappahan- 
tsock  County ,  Virginia ,  charged  with  the  poisoning  of  hi* 
wife,  by  administering  to  her  strychnia.  Together  with  a 
short  Biography  of  the  Criminal-— -the  Evidence  adduced  at 
the  Trial — his  liason  vrith  his  Wife's  Niece — the  Murder  of 
their  offspring — the  Letters  of  his  Paramour — and  the  Med¬ 
ical  Evidence  adduced  on  the  occasion,  including  that  of 
Prof.  R.  E.  Rogers,  of  the  University  of  •Pennsylvania. 


By  a  Neither  of  tie  Rappahannock  Bar, 


.  ’The  trial  of  James  IT;  Joexsox,  charged  with  the  ruur- 
cter  of  his  wife,  in  June,  last,  by  administering  to  heif 
fstrichnia,  came  off  at  the  March  Term,  1859,  of  the  Cir¬ 
cuit  Court  of  Rappahannock  County,  Va.  Nothing  had 
ever  before  occurred  in  the  county,  creating  so  deep  an  in¬ 
terest,  Not  less  than  one  thousand  persons  were  daily  in. 
‘attendance — some  of  them  from  a  distance  exceeding  fifty 
fcailes.  ..  .  . 


’  •)  .  t'  v  ,  \  . 

The  trial  was  commenced  oh  Mqedaj  r,'  the  7 til  of  Mavrin 
And  lasted  the  entire  week,  Oui  of  a  summon  of  near  tiltrj 


ft  jjVRT  was  with  diffisolty  ©mpa»»«lJVi- — flh«  jiamra  o  if  w  filers 
w’ero  as  follows : 


DANIEL  W  BOTTS, 
JOHN  G.  PARKS, 
r.  M.  FINKS, 

DAT  ID  CREEL, 

JAMES  \Y.  FLETCHER. 


PULLER  A.  HUGHES. 


JAMES  A.  RTAPT, 


LEWIS  C.  BOTTS. 
WM.  \V.  BROWN, 


W INTERTON  MUBPHTr 


ALBERT  R.  SINGLETON,  RICHARD  THORNUILL. 

Counsel  for  the  Commonwealth,  J.  Y.  .VEjYJFEE,  Esq.,  State'  & 
Attorney,  assisted  by  CHARLES  B.  TLBBS,  Esq  ,  oj  Loudoun. — 
Tor  the  Prisoner,  ROB' T  E.  SCOTT,  of  Fauquier,  E.  T.  JOJYRS 
and  W.  B.  H.  JCKLEY.  of  Rappahannock . 

From  the  evidence  adduced  a(r  the  trial,  it  appears  that 
JibnNSON  had  been  in  the  habit  o-f  saying  to- bis  neighbors, 
shortly  prior  to  the  death  of  his  wife,  when  asked  how  hie* 
family  was,  that  all  were  well  save  his  wife,  whose  dtaath  he 
would  not  be  surprised  to  occur  at  any  time,  as  she  was  lia¬ 
ble  to  fits,  spasms,  or  something  of  that  nature  '  while  her 
acquaintances  proved  her  to  be  a  woman  in  good  health, 
and  that  she  upon  all  occasions  so  expressed  herself.  That 
Johnsou  had  adulterous  intercourse  with  a  niece  of  his 
wife’s,  who  visited  the  family.  That  be  was  seen  with 
strychnine,  and  sold  a  neighbor  a  portion — that  be  had  seen 
its  effects  upon  a  dog  of  his,  which  by  some* means  had  got 
a  dose.  Some  two  or  three  days  before  the  death  of  his 
wife,  he  purchased  a  few  lemons.  On  the  day  of  her  death 
he  invited  a  young  man,  Mr.  Carter,  to  his  house  to  drink 
lemonade,  saying  if  he  would  go,  he,  Johnson,  would  go 
with  him  to  Washington  (in  Rappahannock.)  Carter  being 
in  the  field,  looking  at  Johnson’s  sheep,  which  he  proposed 
to  buy,  but  would  not  give  the  price  asked.  Carter  consent’ 
cd  to  go  to  the  house,  but  halted  at  the  cherry  tree.  John¬ 
son  went  on  and  prepared  the  lemonade.  When  he  got  to 
the  house,  he  spoke  to  Mrs.  Johnson  ;  asked  her  how  she 
wa-u  She  replied,  “  I  am  well,  and  I  think  the  only  one,  as 
the  children  arc  all  complaining.”  Johnson  comes  with  two 


passes  of  lemonade  from  another  room ;  the  pitcher  ©■*•»; 
taming  the  other,  being  in  the  room  where  Cart  or  was.  He 
handed  one  glass  to  Mrs.  Johnson,  who  said,  “  Why  don't 
jou  wait  on  Mr.  Carter  first  ?”  He  replied,  “Mr.  Carter  can 
help  himself  from  the  pitcher.”  Mrs.  Johnson  tasted,  say¬ 
ing  it  was  bitter.  Johnson  replied,  he  had  put  aloes  in  it, 
as  the  Doe  tor  said  it  would  be  good  for  her.  She  said  she 
was  sot  sick,  but  drank  it ;  and  Johnson  drank  his,  saying 
it  was  the  same  as  his.  He,  Johnson,  then  told  Mrs.  J.  she 
«eodl4  diimk  some  out  of  the  pitcher;  to  rinse  the  glass;  and 
gave  her  half  a  glass  full,  which  she  drank,  and  then,  start¬ 
ed  out  to  rinse  the  glass  again.  Mrs.  J.  asked  what  he  want- 
•cd  to  rinse  the  glass  for.  He  said  there  might  be  some  of 
the  aloes  left.  lie  then  hurried  Carter  off,  going  out  first ; 
Carter  perhaps  not  being  im  the  house  more  than  five  min¬ 
iates  or  less,  after  drinking.  They  rode  some  two  miles, 
when  thev  were  overtaken  bv  Mr.  Gearing,  who  was  at 
work  on  the  farm  of  Johnson,  who  said  Mrs.  Johnson  must 
die  very  soon  if  not  relieved.  Johnson  sent  Gearing  after 
the  Doctor,  and  he  returned  and  found  her  dead,  she  having 
Hived  not  more  than  40  minutes  after  taking  the  lemonade. 

Tie  Facts  which  led  to  lie  Arrest  of  Johnson. 

Oaa  the  evening  of  the  llth  day  of  June,  18J8,  the  citi- 
xens  <*£  tJae  atsuaaHy  tfuiet  town  of  Washington,  and  adja- 
>eei£t  sleigh  berimed,  were  thrown  into  a  considerable  state 
of  excitement,  by  a  rumor  tfe®t  there  had  been  perpetrated 

in  their  midst,  a  most  inhuman  and  diabolical  murder _ - 

Mrs.  Johkson,  the  wife  of  James  II.  Johnson,  had  died 
suddenly,  .and  under  circumstances  that  rendered  a  suspi¬ 
cion  of  foul  play  ©el  the  part  of  her  husband,  more  than 
probable.  Various  circumstances,  running  back  as  far  as 
185fi,  tended  to  direct  public  opinion  in  one  general  current. 
There  appeared  to  be  but  one  opinion.  The  facts  attend¬ 
ing  her  demise,  having  been  properly  communicated  to  the 
legal  authorities,  Dr.  13.  F.  Kinsey,  acting  in  his  capacity  of 
Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  Coroner,  by  virtue  of  office,  based 
»pon  the  following  Affidavits,  issued  his  warrant,  envpft*. 


-t 


jnsitug  a-jurv  of  twelve  citizens  to  enquire  into  the  eeasa; 
snd  manner  of  her  death ;  the  names,  and  verdict  of  which, 
are  herewith  appended : 

TESTIMONY 

OF 

JAMES  IJ  CARTER  and  FRANKLIN  EE  ARE  A, 

RAPPAHANNOCK  COUNTY,  TO  WIT  : 

James  Carter  having  been  sworn,  testifies  as  follows: 
That  he  was  at  the  house  of  James  II.  Johnson,  on  Thurs¬ 
day,  the  10th  day  of  June,  1858,  and  ho  the  said  James  H. 
Johnson  proposed  to  make  a  lemonade,  which  he  did,  and 
I  said  I  was  in  a  hurry,  being  on  a  borrowed  horse ;  hut  I 
would  go  to  the  cherry  tree  and  wait  until  he  the  said  Jas. 
IT.  Johnson  had  made  the  lemonade.  After  I  came  to  the 
house,  he  the  said  Jas.  II.  Johnson  brought  in  two  glasses 
not  quite  full  of  lemonade,  with  aloes  hitters,  as  he  said, 
which  Mr.  James  II.  Johnson  and  Mrs.  Alice  Johnson 

i  1  i  •  •.  ... 

drank.  She  said  it  was  verv  bitter,  and  she  did  not  tike  it. 

He,  Johnson,  said  it  was  like  his,  and  it  was  aloes,  which 

Kinsey  says  will  be  good  for  you.  After  Mrs.  Johnson  drank 

the  glass,  Mr.  Johnson  poured  some  lemonade  out  of  the 

pitcher,  and  she  drank  that.  lie  the  said  Johnson  told  her 

to  give  him  the  glass  and  let  him  rinse  it.  Mrs.  Johnson 

jays,  what  do  you  want  to  rinse  it  for,  there  is  nothing  in  it. 

James  II.  Johnson  says  there  may  be  a  little  aloes  left  in  it. 

Mr.  Johnson  asked  me  if  I  was  ready,  and  I  said  I  was,  and 

.  .  •  •  •  <.« 

we  started.  And  further  this  deponent  saitli  not. 

J.  13.  CARTER. 

Bappahankoc&  County,  to  vn%i 

James  B.  Carter  was  this  day  sworn  fyy.  m-e  according  to  law. 
June  11,  1858.'  BENJ.  F.  KINSEY. 

Rappahannock  County,  to  wit  : 

Franklin  Gearing  having  been  sworn,  testified  as  follows  : 
I  was  cleaning  up  some  wheat,  and  I  heard  a  scream  from 
Mrs.  Johnson,  and  1  run  to  the  house,  and  I  found  her  sit 

*  4  i* 


ting-  in  a  chair,  with  her  hands  up  over  her  shoulder?,  holt! 
qf  the  chair  nobs,  and  a  jerking,  and  she  said  she  was  poi¬ 
soned  ;  and  I  replied,  I  reckon  not ;  and  she  said  she.  wgs, 
a.nd  wanted  or  requested  me  to  give  her  the  white  of  an, 
egg.  i  held  her  whilst  the  black  man  gave  her  one,  and  X 
gave  her  one  or  two  myself,  and;  she  remarked  that  Mr. 
Johnson  \v^s  going  after  her  little  son  Saturday  or  Sunday,, 
and  he  wanted  her  out  of  his  way,  and  that  she.  was  point- 
blank  like  the  dog  which  had  got  something  that  had  been, 
put  up  stairs  to  kill  rats,  and  which  the  dog  had  got  to  and 
eat  and  died,  which  she  said  was  arsenic  or  something;  and, 
she  said  that  Mr.  Johnson,  vyas  kinder  to  her  that  day  than 
eonimon;  and  if  she  could  get  over  it,  she  would  never 
drink  any  more  from  his  hands,  as  long  as  she  lived  ;  and 
the  last  word  I  heard  her  say,  she  said  she  was  poisoned. 
And  she  said  ror  the  last  twelve  months  she  had  not  been, 
able  to  do  anything  to  please  him  \  but  I  have  never  seen 
any  thing  like  it  myself.  Mrs.  Johnson  told  me  that  her 
daughter  Nancy  had  asked  her  if  she  was  going  to  die,  and 
she  said  yes-,  that  her  Papa  had  poisoned  me.  I  have  heard  ' 
Mr.  Johnson,  say  at  the  table,  several  times,  that  she  ought 
to  stop  drinking  tea,  or  so  much  of  it,  or  it  would  be  the 
death  of  her.  Aud  further  this  deponent  saith  uot. 

FRANKLIN  GEARING. 

Rappahannock  County,  to,  wit  : 

Franklin  Gearing  ihis  day  was  sworn  by  me  according  to  law.. 

June  11th,  1858.  BENJAMIN  F.  KINSEY,  i.  p. 

Rappahannock  County,  to  wit  : 

An  Inquisition  taken  at  the  hou.se,  oi  James  II.  Johnson^ 
i,n  the  County  aforesaid,  on,  the  12th  of  Juup,  in  the  year 
1858,  before  B.  F.  Kinsey;  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  upon  the 
yiew  oi  the  body  of  Alice  Johnson7,  there  lying  dead.  The 
Jurors  sworn  to  inquire  when,  how,  and  by  what  means  the 
said  Alice  Johnson  came  to  her  death,  upon  their  oaths  da 
say:  That  on  the  evening  of  the  10th  of  June,  1858,  the. 
su,id  Alice  Johnson  tool:  poison,  given  to  her  in  toddy,  ad.-, 


<5 


ministered  by  James  It.  Johnson.  In  testimony  whereof 
the  said  Coroner  and  Jurors  have  hereto  sot  their  hands. 
(Signed) 


BENJ.  F.  KINSEY,  j.  t. 
II.  FOSTER, 

A.  \V.  UTTERBACIv, 
ANSON  DEARING, 
HOWARD  COMPTON, 
BENJAMIN  F.  MILLER, 


BENJAMIN  PARTLOW, 
W.  n.  HOLLAND, 
JAMES  MOORE, 
RICHARD  HARRIS, 
BRAXTON  EASTUAM, 
WM.  A.  DEATHERAGB. 


In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  Rappahannock  County  Court : 

The  foregoing  is  a  true  copy  of  the  testimony  of  James 
B.  Carter  and  Franklin  Gearing,  reduced  to  writing,  and 
returned  to  the  Clerk’s  office  of  the  said  Court,  on  the  13th 
day  of  June,  1858,  with  the  inquest  of  the  Coroner’s  jury 
over  the  body  of  Alice  Johnson,  and  the  other  papers  ac¬ 
companying  the  same,  and  placed  on  file  in  the  said  Offieo. 
Given  under  my  hand  this  30th  day  of  March,  1859. 

B.  F.  PEYTON,  Clerk. 

It  is  perhaps  necessary  to  add  in  connection  with  this, 
that  Dr.  John  S.  Browning,  of  Flint  Ilill,  was  summoned 
hy  the  Coroner,  to  examine  the  body  of  the  deceased,  who, 
with  the  assistance  ot  Dr.  A.  W.  Read,  of  Washington, 
performed  a  post  mortem  examination.  Upon  an  examina¬ 
tion  of  the  vital  organs,  they  were  found  normal.  Tha 
stomach  aud  contents  were  preserved  by  Dr,  Browning, 
and  in  the  absence  of  necessary  chemical  apparatus,  wero 
by  him  carried  to  Philadelphia  and  placed  in  the  hands  of 
Professor  Robert  E.  Rogers,  of  the  University  of  Pennsyl¬ 
vania,  for  investigation.  Professor  Rogers,  after  an  elabor¬ 
ate  analvsis  of  the  same,  discovered  unmistakable  evidence 
of  the  existence  of  strychnia,  in  both  stomach  and  con¬ 
tents  submitted  to  his  examination.  These  facts  being  com¬ 
municated  to  J.  Y.  Menifee,  Esq.,  Attorney  for  the  Com¬ 
monwealth,  he  at  once  opened  a  correspondence  with  Pro¬ 
fessor  Rogers,  and  at  his  earnest  solicitation,  accompanied 
by  those  of  the  friends  and  relatives  of  the  deceased,  ac- 
counts  for  his  presence  at  the  final  trial  and  conviction  of 
rhe  prisoner. 


4 


0 


/ 


In  the  absence  of  a  competent  Reporter,  we  are  only  en¬ 
abled  to  give  a  short  synopsis  of  bis  evidence  and  opinions 
in  the  premises,  which  will  be  found  in  another  part  of  our 
record. 

Dr.  Rogers  is  an  able  chemist,  and  doubtless  stands  at 
the  head  of  his  profession  in  America.  He  was  subjected 
to  a  severe  ordeal  by  the  able  counsel  employed  for  the  de¬ 
fence;  but,  one  could  not  but  think  of  the  anecdote  of  Dr. 
Franklin,  when  he  was  cited  before  the  British  Parliament 
to  give  evidence  of  the  treasonable  practices  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  colonies.  A  friend  of  his,  writing  home,  said,  ‘‘Frank¬ 
lin’s  examination  appeared  like  a  schoolmaster  being  exam¬ 
ined  before  a  parcel  of  school-boys.”  This  was  truly  ap¬ 
plicable  to  Dr.  Rogers  and  the  counsel  who  confronted  him. 

Upon  the.  rendition  of  the  foregoing  verdict,  a  warrant 
for  the  arrest  of  Johnson  was  at  once  issued;  and  after  a 
hearing,  he  was  committed  to  the  jail  of  Rappahannock,  to 
await  the  action  of  an  examining  Court.  During  the  inter¬ 
val  between  the  issuing  of  the  warrant,  empannelinga  Coro¬ 
ner’s  jury,  and  their  final  decision,  the  excitement  in  the 
vicinity  became  intense.  The  jury  met  about  mid-day  on 
the  11th,  and  did  not  close  their  labors  until  past  midnight, 
or  rather,  near  the  morning  of  the  following  day.  It  was 
rumored  that  doubts  existed  in  the  minds  of  some  of  the 
panel,  in  regard  to  Johnson’s  guilt,  and  that  they  could  not 
agree  upon  a  verdict.  It  Avas  feared  by  many  that  he  would 
seize  the  occasion  to  make  his  escape ;  and  so  general  did 
the  impression  become,  that  volunteer  squads  posted  them¬ 
selves  in  positions  near  by,  guarding  every  avenue  of ’es¬ 
cape  from  the  house  ;  and  not  until  he  was  taken  into  cus¬ 
tody  by  the  proper  officer  of  the  law,  did  they  relax  their 
vigilance.  He  Avas  at  once  committed  to  the  county  jail ; 
and  on  his  appearance  at  an  examining  Court,  was,  by  that 
body,  remanded  to  the  custody  of  the  jailor,  to  await  his 
trial  at  the  folloAving  term  of  the  Circuit  Superior  Court  of 
the  County.  To  this  Term  of  the  Court,  held  in  Octobers 
1858,  a  large  number  of  Avituesses  were  summoned  on  be- 


3 


half  of  the  defence.  Most  of  them  were  present,  but  tiio 
few  who  were  absent  were  declared  by  “affidavit”  in  due 
form  of  law,  to  be  essential  witnesses  in  behalf  of  the  pri¬ 
soner;  and  the  case  was  consequent!}'  continued.  Attach¬ 
ments  were  at  once  issued,  to  compel  the  attendance  of  the 
absentees  at  the  next  Term  of  the  Court;  which  they  did; 
but,  strange  to  say,  not  one  of  the  absentees,  whose  mate¬ 
riality  as  witnesses  \yas  sworn  to  by  the  prisoner,  was  ex¬ 
amined  at  his  trial  apd  conviction.  It  was  evidently,  in  the 
minds  of  the  spectators,  a  ruse  on  the  part  of  the  prisoner's 
counsel  to  gain  time  and  in  some  measure  allay  the  excite¬ 
ment  which  existed  against  his  client.  But  it  was  a  mis¬ 
taken  idea.  Curses,  loud  and  deep,  could  have  been  heard 
throughout  the  court-room,  when  it  was  announced  that  his 
trial  had  been  postponed.  It  did,  perhaps,  allay  the  trou¬ 
bled  waters  of  public  sentiment  for  awhile,  but  only  to 
drive  them  into  a  deeper  and  more  rapid  channel.  Wo 
mixed  freely  with  the  citizens  and  spectators  on  the  occa¬ 
sion  of  his  tinal  trial,  and  it  is  our  opinion  in  view  of  the 
evidence  offered,  that,  had  he  been  acquitted  by  the  jury, 
or  if  they  had  disagreed  and  failed  to  find  “murder  in  the 
first  degree,”  he  would  have  been  instantly  seized  by  the 
populace  and  hanged  on  the  nearest  limb.  On  chat  day  wo 
first  obtained  a  view  of  the  prisoner,  since  his  arrest.  IIo 
was  born  in  Culpeper  county,  Yq.,  now  Rappahannock,  in 
1823,  and  is  consequently  about  36  years  old  though  his  ap¬ 
pearance  indicates  one  much  younger.  lie  is  about  five  feet 
ten  inches  in  height ;  has  coal  black  hair  and  eyes,  ruddy 
complexion,  and  every  thing  indicative  of  a  sanguine,  bil¬ 
lions  temperament.  His  complexion  was  somewhat  impair* 
_cd  by  the  imprisonment  in  the  county  jail,  to  which  ho  had 
been  subjected.  lie  was  genteelly  habited,  in  a  suit  of  black 
cloth — was  heavily  whiskered  and  moustached — his  linen 
spotless  white — his  boots  highly  polished — and  indeed  h)9 
whole  tout  ensemble,  and  the  general  contour  of  his  counte¬ 
nance  indicated  him  to  be  any  thing  else  than  the  black¬ 
hearted,  remorseless  villain  which  he  has  been  proven  to  bo. 


Seated  within  the  bar  of  the  Court,  surrounded  3  bj  his 
counsel,  he  scarce  dared  look  up,  contenting  himself  with 
casting  furtive  side-glances  around  the  court- room.  But,  in 
in  no  place  could  he  meet  with  a  sympathising  eye.  There 
was  a  strong  talk  of  “higher  law,”  outside  the  walls  of  the 
Court-House,  information  of  which  had  doubtless  been 
conveyed  to  the  prisoner,  through  some  channel  or  other. 
"When  remanded  by  the  Court  to  the  custody  of  the  She¬ 
riff,  he  was  impaled  to  his  seat  with  fear,  and  earnestly  be¬ 
sought  that  functionary  to  conduct  him,  by  a  rear  way,  to  the 
entrance  of  the  jail.  The  wish  was,  however,  not  complied 
with.  Sheriff  Miller,  accompanied  by  a  strong  posse  of 
men  detailed  for  the  occasion,  reconducted  him  to  prison 
in  safety,  though  beset  by  a  large  and  infuriated  populace, 
anxious  to  award  him  his  deserts,  and  dispense  with  the  ser¬ 
vices  of  both  Judge  and  Jury — they  to  constitute  one  and 
the  whole.  Indeed,  one  worthy  had  equipped  himself  with 
a  hangman’s  noose,  to  be  ready  for  any  emergency,  and 
which  he  took  care  to  trail  close  to  the  prisoner’s  heels — - 
he  accompanying  the  act  by  sundry  expletives  not  fit  for 
ears  polite.  In  this  manner  they  reached  the  prison,  and 
the  poor  criminal  appeared  to  experience  a  feeling  of  relief 
when  once  more  incarcerated  within  its  strong  walls. 

Of  his  early  history  we  know  but  little.  He  was  born  of 
highly  honorable  and  respectable  parents.  Ilis  father,  a  small 
but  well-to-do  farmer,  was  esteemed  throughout  his  neighborhood 
for  honesty  and  sterling  integrity.  We  arc  informed  that  he 
accidentally  lost  his  life  in  the  autumn  of  1849,  whilst  on  a 
bear  hunting  expedition  in  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains.  It  may 
have  been  a  beneficent  dispensation  of  an  allwise  Providence  to 
spare  the  father  the  harrowing  feeling  of  witnessing  the  sliamo 
and  degradation  of  his  son.  The  particulars  of  the  catastrophe 
may  not  be  uninteresting  to  some  of  our  readers.  He  was  ac¬ 
companied  on  the  occasion  by  a  young  friend  and  companion 
with  whom  he  frequently  associated  in  similar  pursuits,  and  at 
the  time  was  in  pursuit  of  a  hear  which  had  made  its  appearance 


in  the  neighborhood,  to  the  great  detriment  of  hogs,  and  other 
stock  within  its  range.  During  the  day,  the  bear  eluded  their 
vigilance  and  pursuit.  The  parties  in  the  meantime  had  sepa¬ 
rated,  each  taking  different  routes,  and  did  not  meet  again  until 
the  declining  rays  of  the  sun  had  cast  a  deep  shadow  over  tho 
dark  gorges  and  ravines  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  In  one  of  these, 
Mr.  Johnson  had  unfortunately  taken  cover  in  a  thicket  of 
undergrowth,  and  espying  his  companion  approaching,  arose  to 
salute  him  ;  and  in  a  moment  received  the  contents  of  a  rifle 
in  his  body,  which  at  once  sent  him  into  eternity.  He  was 
mistaken  for  the  game  of  which  they  had  both  been  in  mutual 
pursuit.  It  is  only  necessary  to  add,  that  the  good  character 
of  the  young  gentleman  in  question,  and  the  intimacy  of  the 
parties,  entirely  absolved  him  from  any  suspicion  of  foul  play 
in  the  premises. 

But  to  return  to  the  subject  of  our  sketch.  Sometime  during 
the  year  1840  or  1850,  Johnson  became  united  in  the  bonds  of 
matrimony  to  a  Miss  Alice  Dulen,  a  highly  respectable  and 
pious  young  lady  of  the  county  of  Loudoun.  Previous  to  this, 
he  had  for  some  time  acted  as  manager  on  the  plantation  of 
Gov.  Smith,  of  Fauquier  county,  and  possibly  may  have  been 
at  the  time  of  his  marriage  with  Miss  Dulen.  Of  his  first  ac¬ 
quaintance  with  her,  we  have  no  data.  The  marriage  appeared 
to  be  one  of  affection,  and  lasted  happily  for  several  years  ; 

during  which  time  several  children  were  born  unto  them.  Miss 
© 

Dulen  possessed  some  property — probably  two  thousand  or 
more  dollars,  by  the  aid  of  which  he  was  enabled  to  purchase 
the  old  homestead,  his  father  being  now  deceased,  and  leaving 
other  heirs  besides  himself,  and  some  small  incumbrance  on  the 
estate.  lie  stocked  the  farm,  commenced  business,  and  for 
some  years  bore  the  reputation  of  an  industrious,  thrifty  man. 
But  habits  of  profligacy  latterly  overtook  him,  and  at  the  time 
of  his  arrest  he  was  found  deeply  involved  in  debt. 

His  first  intimacy  or  acquaintance  with  Miss  Mary  E. 
SilREVB,  who  plays  such  a  conspicuous  part  in  this  pamphlet, 
appears  to  have  been  formed  in  Loudoun,  whilst  on  a  visit  to 
his  wife’s  relatives.  She  was  a  niece  of  his  wife,  and  the 


11 


daughter  of  a  wealthy  and  most  estimable  gentleman  of  that 
county.  Whether  any  criminal  intercourse  existed  between 
them  previous  to  her  visit  to  him  in  Rappahannock  county,  is 
pf  courso  unknown  ;  but  circumstances  tend  strongly  to  show 
.that  such  intercourse  did  exist.  She  arrived  at  Mr.  Johnson’s 
house,  accompanied  by  him,  in  August,  1857,  for  the  avowed 
purpose  of  spending  a  short  time  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  J.,  who 
was  said  to  be  in  declining  health.  This,  of  course,  elicited 
neither  suspicion  or  remark  in  the  neighborhood  at  the  time. 
She  was  a  beautiful  girl,  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  had  dark 
^tihtirp.  hair,  blue  eyes,  jyas  educated  and  intelligent,  quite 
simple  and  childlike  in  her  manners,  and  soon  became  a  favorite 
in  the  circle  in  which  she  moved.  No  one  doubted  her  purity 
and  chastity.  She  had  evidently  been  accustomed  to  move  in 
a  different  sphere  from  that  of  Johnson’s,  and  after  a  while  it 
began  to  be  a  subject  of  rein  ark  why  sh.e  should  so  long  remain 
under  3,  roof  where  taste  and  habits  were  so  uncongenial.^ 
Charity  attributed  it  to  an  affection  for  her  aunt ;  would  to  God 
that  it  had  been  so — but,  as  before  intimated,  she  was  already 
Jashed  on  the  rock  of  ruin,  anguish  and  despair. 

But  to  go  back  a  short  period.  J^efoye  leaving  Loudoun 
county  in  the  company  of  Johnson,  it  was  her  intention  to  enter 
fhe  Catholic  Female  Seminary  at  Frederick  City,  Md.,  for 
which,  arrangements  had  previously  been  made.  When  John¬ 
son  prriyed  at  her  father’s,  she  was  on  a  visit  to  a  relative,  some 
tyrepty  miles  distant.  This  he  ascertained,  and  proceeded  to 
Leesburg — purchased  a  carriage  or  rockaway,  and  set  out  to 
visit  her  at  the  house  at  which  she  was  staying.  Arriving  there, 
Jie  informed  her  that  at  his  urgent  solicitation,  her  father  had 
ponsented  that  she  might  accompany  him  home  on  a  visit  to  see 
her  aunt — his  wife — who  was  in  ill  health,  and  quite  anxious  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  her  society  for  a  few  weeks*  Tq  this  sho 
consented ;  but  was  anxious  to  return  by  the  way  of  home,  to 
procure  some  necessary  articles  of  wearing  apparel.  Johnson 
quieted  this  objection  by  stating  that  he  would  have  to  return 
to  Loudoun  on  business — that  he  was  now  in  a  hurry,  and  could 
then  bring  her  such  articles  as  she  desired.  This  she  consented 
pQf  and  set  .off  in  company  with  him. 


12 


Of  all  this  her  parent  was  totally  unaware;  and  some  weeks 
elapsed  before  he  discovered  that  she  had  accompanied  Johnson 
to  Rappahannock,  lie  had  supposed  she  chose  to  prolong  her 
stay  amongst  her  relatives,  and  felt  no  anxiety  concerning  her. 
He  was  not  aware  of  the  duplicity  practiced  to  inveigle  her  off, 
and  contented  himself  with  a  reasonable  time,  or  at  least  until 
she  should  manifest  a  desire  to  return  home.  IVken  some  months 
had  elapsed — near  a  year — her  father  wrote  a  peremptory  letter 
to  her,  ordering  her  to  return  at  once  to  his  house,  under  the 
penalty  of  his  severe  displeasure. 

This  letter  was  taken  from  the  post-office  at  Washington  by 
Johnson,  who  had  his  victim  in  his  power,  and  it  was  not  shown 
her;  but,  in  lieu  of  which,  he  told  her  he  had  just  received  a 
letter  from  her  father,  granting  her  permission  to  remain  with 
her  aunt  until  the  following  autumn.  Thus  things  went  on  for 
-one  or  two  months,  when  another  letter  arrived  from  her  parent, 
and  Avhich  fortunately  fell  into  her  own  hands.  It  was  corro- 
Moratory  of  the  first,  and  went  to  show  Johnson’s  duplicity.  But, 
alas  !  poor  creature, 

“  He  on  her  womanish  nature  won,  and 

Age  suspicionless,  and  ruined - 

For  he  a  chosen  villain  was  at  heart, 

And  capable  of  deeds  that  durst  not 
Seek  repentance. ” 

But,  to  return  home,  could  not  be  thought  of.  Shame  and 
degradation  would  soon  overtake  her  under  her  father’s  roof.  It 
was  but  too  evident  to  her  mind  that  she  carried  within  her  bo¬ 
som  the  germinating  fruit  of  a  guilty  passion,  for  which  she  had 
bartered  her  eternal  happiness,  welfare  and  peace  of  mind. 

No,  she  would  not  go.  Under  the  roof  of  her'  destroyer 
should  be  exposed  the  fruit  of  their  mutual  guilt.  To  this  end 
the  fair  penitent  at  once  assumed  illness — wrote  to  her  father  to 
that  effect — and  went  so  far  as  to  have  her  fair  tresses  shaven 
close,  in  order  the  better  to  impose  the  deceit.  A  physician 
was  called  in  attendenee,  but  whatever  bis  private  i  pinion  may 
have  been  in  regard  to  the  nature  of  her  ailments,  a  sense  of 
delicacy  in  a  professional  point  of  view,  effectually  scaled  his 
lips  so  far  as  public  inquiry  was  concerned. 


1 « 

it  was  about  this  time  that  Madame  Rumor  b<e®a«ae  fetu^'-y. 
-aud'for  once,  she  did  not  lie.  Rumors  of  a  dark  and  suspicion* 
•eaturo  began  to  bo  circulated  throughout  the  neighborhood  ift 
regard  to  improper  intimacy  between  herself  and  Johnson. — - 
Her  female  friends  ©eased  their  visits,  and  she  found  herself  no 
longer  a  welcome  guest  at  their  homes,  or  even  recognised  as  an 
acquaintance  on  occasions  of  a  casual  meeting.  Yet  under  alt 
these  cirajtmsfc&nees  did  she  remain  under  her  destroyer’s  roof  for 
months  and  months, — until  removed  by  her  father  to  his  home 
in  Loudoun.  What  her  feelings  were  during  this  time  can  be 
better  imagined  than  described.  She  appeared  perfectly  infat¬ 
uated  with  tho  fiend  who  had  wrought  her  ruin,  and  was  so  lost 
to  all  sense  of  shame  and  female  delicacy  as  to  usurp  the  impe¬ 
rial  bed  of  her  aunt ;  and  that,  too,  in  her  presence. 

The  circumstances  attending  the  bir.h  of  her  child  are  un¬ 
known  to  the  community,  and  probably  ever  will  he.  'J  hat  a 
ehild — a  boy,  was  born,  the  offspring  of  her  guilty  career,  thorp 
is  not  a  shadow  of  doubt,  corroborated  as  it  is  by  outs.de  cir¬ 
cumstances.  When  In  one  of  her  letters  she  speaks  of  “my 
boy-^-my  baby” - “I  would  to  God  I  had  kept  it,”  and  simi¬ 

lar  expressions,  it  tends  clearly  to  show  that  the  child  was  born 
alive — taken  from  her  and  destroyed  by  her  remorseless  sedu¬ 
cer,  or  others  in  conjunction  with  him. 

It  appears  that  the  first  really  tangible  evidence  of  the  guilt 
of  Miss  Mary  E.  Shreves,  was  only  discovered  by  her  family 
so  late  as  May,  1858.  Suspicions  had  before  been  aroused, 
growing  out  of  her  correspondence  with  Johnson,  as  is  evidently 
evinced  in  her  letters  to  him.  Some  time  in  the  month  of 
May,  1858,  after  her  return  home,  a  near  female  relation  acci¬ 
dentally  came  in  possession  of  a  letter  from  James  II  Johnson, 
which  aroused  her  suspicions.  It  was  addressed  to  Mary  E. 
Shreve,  and  was-  of  the  most  affectionate  and  tender  nature. 
He  called  her  hiis  “dove,”  and  used  affectionate  phrases  in 
every  particular.  In  the  latter  part  of  his  letter  he  said  he  had 

that  day  visited  the  grave  of  their  baby,  and  shed  many 
tears.”  “Ho  did  so  often,  because  its  mother  was  absent.” 
The  lady’s  opinion  of  Johnson  had  ever  been  of  the  most  d:»r 


74 


.yu^lfal  character,  and  her  feu  13  were  so  wrought  upon,  that  aft,* 
at  once  indited  a  note  to  Aids.  Johnson,  warning  her  of  in> 
pending  danger  on  the  part  of  lira;  husband.  This  letter,  thro' 
an  accident,  was  not  mailed,  but  had  it  been,  would  doubtless 
have  been  intercepted  by  the,  prisoner.  Mary  E.  Shreve  wrote 
to  this  lady  whilst  in  Rappahannock,  saying,  “she  would  not 
come  back  as  she  went.”  She  told  her  on  another  occasion, 
that  “in  about  four  years,  she  expected  to.be  married,  and  go 
©If ;  and  no  one  would  know  who  shq.  married,  and  where  she 
had  gone.”  The  ma.n  she  married  woyTd  T^e  about  forty  years 
©f  age,  and  sbe  would  be  abopt  twenty- four.* 

This  corresponds  quite  well  with  the  relative  ages  of  the 
party— or  rather,  what  they  would  have  been  at  the  time 
spoken  of  by  the  fair  communicant., 

In  justice  to  the  poor  infatuated  female,  whose  career  w,® 
have  under  consideration,  we  cannot  believe  that  she  was, 
either  directly  or  indirectly  privy  or  cognizant  of  Johnson’s 
design  to  destroy  hib  wife  by  poison.  She  had  pot  sunk 
deep  enough  into  the  abyss  of  crime  to  willingly  become 
tho  aid  and  instrument  61  the  murucr  of'  her  mother’s  si's-- 
ter,  her  own  aunt — one  connected  to  her  by  the  nearest  ties 
of  blood.  No!  The  whole  tenor  of  the  following  letters, 
goes  to  preclude  such  an  idea.  In  only  one  of  the  series  is 
there  language,  upon  which  such  a  supposition  could  b<? 

based.  It  is  dated - - ,  in  which  sIiq  says,  “Poor; 

creature!  Little  docs  she  know  wluit's  in, store  ibr  her.” — 
Evidently  alluding  to  a  eon  mm  plated  desertion  of  his  wifei 

*  It  is  perhaps  proper  to  state  here,  that,  since  lije  above  was  writ¬ 
ten,  Johnson  has  confessed  that  a  child  was  born  to  her  under  his 
'  •  •  * 

roof,  and  that  it  was  buried  by  him  on  a  spot  near-  his  house,  which* 
he  designated.  A  party  of  gentlemen  proceeded  to-.lhe  plpce,  and, 
after  a  diligent  search,  found  a  portion  of  the  remains  of,  the  infant. 
It  was  buried*  in  a  shallow  hole,  dug  in  the  ear.th,  and  its  body  co-' 
vcrcd  with  a  strip  of  chesnnt  bark.  This  confession  has  been  made 
since  his  conviction.  He  denied  positively  ever  having  had  impror 

per  intimacy  with  S - .  lie  said  site  was  cncienle  when  she  camq. 

tk  his  house — that  Iter  offspring  was  of  pn  mature  birth,  and  he  com 
healed  d  to  hide  her  il.w 


ou  the  part  of  Johnson,  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  a  dh 
yorce  by  law;  to  which  step,  she,  on  one  occasion,  urges 
him.  He  was  to  go  to  Kentucky — there  abide  “twelve 
months  and  a  day'’ — which,  in  her  mind,  was  sufficient  tirge 
to  obtain  a  divorce.  But,  of  this  he  had  no  idea.  It  wgs 
only  an  alluring  bait,  artfully  thrown  out  more,  effectually 
to  beguile  his  victim.  Could  his  letters  to  her  be  obtained, 
they  would  doubtless  throw  much  light  on  the  subject;  buf 

they  have  doubtless  been  destroyed,  either  by  Miss - — 

or  their  author,  as  a  messenger  was  dispatched  to  her  at 
once,  on  the  denouement  of  the  affair  ip  Rappahannock. 

In  the  meantime,  the  reader  is  probably  anxious  to  know 
what  has  become  of  the  unfortunate  Mary  E.  Shreve.  Soon 
after  the  development  of  the  unfortunate  events  which 
wrought  her  ruin  and  shame,  and  condemned  her  paramour 
to  an  ignominious  death,  she  left  her  paternal  home  to  re? 
side  with  a  relative  somewhere  in  the  far  West.  We  heard 

.  „  !  7  ■  ’  .  1  i  .  <  .  »  «  r 

of  her  but  few  a  few  days  ago — but  not  as  the  gay  and 
beautiful  girl  described  in  a  preceding  page  ;  but  on  the 
contrary  a  poor,  penitent,  heart-broken  woman.  Her  career 
had  been  one  wjiich  gvei:  tpachcs  the  same  pnvaryiijg  Ips- 
son,  that  prostitution,  though  invariably  the  result  of  man’s 
ipdividual  villainy’  in  seducing  and  betraying  the  poor  be¬ 
ing  who  trusts  her  destiny  to  his  keeping,  is  yet  one  of  the 
pgonstrous  crimes  pf  society  which  dooms  its  daughters  to 
degradation  and  misery,  from  which  no  virtuous  efforts  of 
their’s  can  ever  rescue  them.  The  philanthropist  has  often 
asked,  “Is  there  no  remedy  for  this  ?”  We  answer  “Hone  !” 
tinless  society  (and  here  we  mean  females  in  particular)  ex: 
elude  from  their  presence  all  men  who  are  guilty  of  seduc- 
tian  or  libertinism,  or  who  have  trifled  with  the  sacred  af-; 
fection  of  their  sex  in  any  form.  But,  we  fear,  this  is  sonte-_ 
thing  to  be  prayed,  rather  than  hoped  for. 


THE  TRIAL. 


Circuit  Superior  Court  of  Rappahannock  County,  ^ 

March  Term,  1859. 

Judge— J  OHN  W.  TYLER. 

— 

Commonwealth  vs.  James  H.  Johnson , 

INDICTED  FOR  THE  MURDER  OF  HIS  WIFE,  MRS.  ALICE  .TOHNSOS. 


The  Court  met  at  12  o’clock,  M.  The  usual  business  of 
the  Grand  Jury  being  disposed  of,  the  Clerk  proceeded  to  call  the 
Commonwealth’s  docket. 

The  first  case  on  the  Criminal  Calendar  was  that  of  JAMES  H. 
JOHNSON,  charged  with  the  muidcr  of  his  wife,  in  June,  185S, 
for  which  a  true  bill  had  been  found  against  him  at  the  October 
Term  of  the  Court. 

The  prisoner  was  brought  into  Court — and  the  indictment  being 
read  to  him,  he  plead  “  Not  Guilty.” 

His  appearance  was  quite  altered  since  his  previous  arraignment. 
He  looked  wan  and  sallow.  He  had  entirely  divested  his  face  of 
whiskers  and  moustache,  and  wore  his  hair  parted  in  front  like  a 
female.  He  had  been  a  ruddy-looking,  stout,  athletic  man,  but  close 
confinement  and  the  noxious  vapors  of  a  prison,  had  already  begun 
to  tell  upon  one  accustomed  to  active  exercise  and  breathing  the 
pure  air  of  the  Blue-Ridge  mountains. 

The  Court-Room  was  crowded  to  suffocation.  It  was  estimated 
that  near  two  thousand  persons  were  present.  Every  spot  in  hear¬ 
ing,  where  a  fooChold  could  be  obtained,  was  occupied,  and  the 
scramble  for  places,  amid  the  loud  cries  of  the  Sheriffs,  of  “Order  I'* 
often  interrupted  the  proceedings  of  the  Court.  The  desire  on  the 
part  of  the  audience — strangers  in  particular — to  obtain  a  sight  of 
the  prisoner,  was  intense.  They  crowded  within  the  bar  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  the  Attornies  engaged  in  the  case,  whilst  the  Clerk’s 
box  was  so  closely  packed  that,  *hat  worthy  gentleman  had  scarcely 


IT 


i 

room  to  move  bis  elbows.  Nothing  but  a  large  fund  of  good  nature 
on’his  part  could  have  enabled  him  to  stand  the  pressure!  It  ii  said 
that  some  one  suggested  to  Judge  Tyler  the  propriety  of  clearing  the 
bar  in  front  of  the  jury,  and  use  more  stringent  measures  to  preserve 
silence  and  order  in  the  court-room.  To  this,  the  Judge,  with  that 
equanimity  of  temper  and  good  practical  sense  which  ever  distin¬ 
guishes  him,  replied  that  “the  people  were  excited — that  they  came 
there  to  hear  and  see — that  they  had  a  right  to  do  so — and  so  long 
as  therejwas  no  gross  breach  of  decorum,  he  should  not  interfere.” 

After  some  delay  growing  out  of  the  absence  from  the  Court 
room  of  some  of  the  venire  summoned  by  the  Sheriff,  the  following 
gentlemen  were  empannelled  as  the  jury  : 


DANIEL  TT.  BOTTS, 
JOHN  G.  PARKS, 

P.  M.  FINKS, 

DAVID  CREEL, 

JAMES  W.  FLETCHER, 
ALBERT  R.  SINGLETON, 


JAMES  A.  RYAN, 
WINTERTON  MURPHY, 
LEWIS  C.  BOTTS, 
WILLIAM  W.  BROWN, 
PULLER  A.  HUGHES, 
RICHARD  THORNHILL. 


Counsel  for  the  Commonwealth ,  J.  Y.  MENIFEE ,  State’ a 
Attorney ,  assisted  by  C.  B.  TEBBS,  of  Loudoun  county. 
For  the  Prisoner ,  ROBERT  E.  SCOTT,  of  Fauquier  coun¬ 
ty,  W.  B.  HACKLY  andE.  T.  JONES,  of  Rappahannock. 
Other  additional  Counsel  had  been  engaged,  but  subsequently 
withdrew  from  the  cause. 


J.  Y.  Menifee,  Esq.,  opened  the  case  of  the  Commonwealth,  in 
an  eloquent  speech  of  near  two  hours  in  length.  His  remarks  in 
summing  up  evidently  told  forcibly  on  the  minds  of  the  Jury. — 
Some  of  them  were  even  affected  to  tears.  He  was  followed  by 
Robert  E.  Scott,  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  in  an  ingenious  and 
well  framed  argument,  by  which  he  expected  to  be  enabled  to  es¬ 
tablish  the  innocence  of  his  client,  Sic.,  &c. 


WITNESSES  FOR  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

James  B.  Carter  called,  and  sworn,  f  met  with  Mr.  James  H. 
Johnson  on  Thursday,  the  10th  of  June,  1858,  at  Richard  Harris’s. 
Mr.  Johnson  proposed  to  me  to  go  home  with  him  and  look  at  gome 
sheep  he  had  for  sale.  .  1  told  him  that  I  was  riding  a  borrowed 


IB 


horse,  and  would  not  have  time.  He  told  me  If  1  would  g»  aver 
With  him  he  would  go  to  Washington  with  me  ;  after  some  hesita¬ 
tion;  I  'started  with  him.  We  passed  on  by  his  house,  and  went 
hito  a  field  in  which  the  sheep  were  running;  while  looking  at  the 
sheep  he  proposed  making  us  lemonade  when  wre  got  to  the  house- 
anti  I  told  him  I  Would  not  have  time  to  stay;  so  we  then  started 
froth  the  field  arid  went  into  another  field  in  which  his  horses  were 
running.  We  turned  the  horses  out  of  that  field  into  the  field  with 
the  sheep  ;  we  theh  proceeded  towards  the  house,  and  when  we  got 
there  he  insisted  upon  my  staying  and  drinking  some  lemonade  with 
him.  I  then  told  him  that  I  would  go  down  to  the  cherry  tree,  some 
hundred  yards  off,  to  get  some  cherries,  and  when  the  lemonade  was 
ready,  to  call  me.  I  don’t  know  whether  he  called  me  or  not — I 
thought  I  heard  him  call  me — and  I  u'ent  to  the  house.  There  I 
met  Mrs.  Johnsori,  and  inquired  after  her  health  ;  and  she  told  me 
she  was  well,  but  she  believed  she  was  the  only  one  of  the  family 
that  was  well — that  the  children  were  all  sick.  I  took  a  seat,  and 
leaned  my  chair  against  a  table.  In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Johnson 
came  iri  with  two  glasses — one  in  each  hand — gave  one  to  his  wife 
and  kept  the  other  himself  j  Mrs.  Johnson  then  asked  him  why  he 
did  not  give  Mr.  Carter  a  glass  of  that,  and  he  said  that  it  had  aloes 
bitters  in  It,  and  that  Mr.  Carter  did  not  drink  spirits,  rtrid  Could  help 
himself  from  the  pitcher  that  Was  sitting  behind  him  on  the  table: 
I  turned,  and  for  the  rlr.-t  time  noticed  a  pitcher,  arid  a  glass  silling 
beside  it.  I  theft  poured  out  a  glass  and  commenced  drinking  it 
Mrs.  Johnson  complained  of  her'e  being  bitter.  Mr.  Johnson  told 
her  that  it  was  just  like  his,  and  to  drink  it  off — that  hinsey  said  it 
would  be  good  for  her— and  if  she  would  drink  it  off  fast  she  would 
not  taste  it  so' tnuth  ;  and  When  she  drank. that  out  he  would  give 
her  some  without  any  aloes  in  it ;  she  drank  it  off,  and  lie  poured 
Borne  lemonade  from  She  pitcher  from  which  I  had  been  drinking, 
and  told  her  to  drink  it  off  and  let  him  rinse  the  glass.  [He  used 
the  word  “wrench. ’’]  She  said,  what  do  you  want  fo  wrench  the 
glass  for? — there  is  nothing  in  it.  He  said,  there  may  b6  a  little 
aloes  left  in  it.  He  then  asked  me  if  I  was  ready.  I  said  I  was, 
and  after  taking  leave  of  Mrs.  Johnson  we  started.  After  getting 
within  a  half  or  three  quarters  of  a  mile  of  Washington,  we  were 
overtaken  by  Mr.  Gearing,*  who  told  Mr.  Johnson  that  Mrs.  Johnson 
was  very  sick,  and  if  not  relieved,  she  could  not  live  more  than  a 
few  miuutes.  Johnson  told  Gcatiug  to  go  after  Dr.  Kinsey,  and  hre 
would  go  home. 


ID 


franklin  Gearing  sworn.  I  was  clearing  wheat  near  the  It  erase ; 
Sieard  Mrs.  Johnson  scream  very  loud  soon  after  Mr.  Johnson  left  ^ 
was  sent  for  by  the  black  gitl,  ran  to  the  house,  found  Mrs.  Johnson 
sitting  in  a  split  bottom  chair,  in  strong  convulsions,  throwing  her 
head  back  while  she  grabbled  at  the  top  knobs  of  the  chair.  Said* 
that  *he  would  die,  that  her  husband  had  poisoned  her,  as  her  symp- 
toms  were  just  like  the  -dog  that  died  shortly  'before,  told  turn  to 
stir  scwne  raw  eggs  together  and  give  her,  which  ’he  did  by  Residing, 
liea’feead^  she  seemed  -better,  and  he  laid  her  en  the  bed.';  the  little 
daughter,  some  five  years  old,  sard,  Ma,  are  you  going  t©  die-?  She 
said,  yes,  my  child,  and  yam-  father  has  |  oisoned  me.  When  she 
first  revived •ffee  said  she  would  never  take  anylhingfiora  him  again 
S  then  ran  for  th*e  horse  to  go  after  the  doctor,  called  In  before  I 
had  started  and  found  her  feet  and  legs  stiff,  as  were  her  head  and 
hands  at  the  beginning  :  found  her  dead  when  I -returned,  and  before, 
’the  doctor  Arrived.  Never  saw  Mr.  Johnson  rn-ktreat  his  wife; 
siever  heard  her  complain  of  him  before  this  attack  of  sickness. 
She  also  said  that  Mr.  Johnson  had  been  hinder  to  her  that  day  than 
for  a  long  time,  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  do  anything  to  please 
Slim  for  ihe  last  twelve  months.  He  only  heard  him  say  to  her  if 
she  continued  to  drink  se  much  strong  tea  it  would  be  the  death  of 
fccr. 

Mr.  Gearing  was  severely  cross  examined  by  Mr.  Scott,  one  of 
defendant's  counsel,  but  his  testimony  was  too  clear  and  lucid  to  be 
shaken.  He  graphically  described  Mrs.  Johnson’s  symptoms  in 
?ier  dying  moments— -the  rigidity  of  her  position — her  distorted 
‘countenance — -ks  livid  color — her  frothing  and  foaming  at  the  mouth, 
accompanied  by  her  dying  declaration  that  she  had  been  poisoned 
?oy  her  'husband.  It  must  have  been  gratifying  to  Mr.  Gearing  to 
lenow  that  his  description  of  the  symptoms  of  Mrs.  Johnson  in  her 
last  moments,  corresponded  precisely  with  those  of  the  learned 
physicians  examined  afterwards  in  regard  to  symp’oms  indicating 
poisoning  by  s'rychnia. 

By  the  Commoxweai.tr.  Br.  J.  S.  Browning  called.  Was 
summoned  to  the  house  of  James  H.  Johnson,  on  Friday  the  lltlr 
of  June,  1858,  to  Attend  an  inquest  over  the  body  of  Johnson’s 
wife,  and  perform  a  post  mortem  examination.  At  my  request,  Dr. 
A.  W.  Read,  of  Washington,  was  called  in,  and  assisted  me  in  the 
examination;  I  found  the  vital  organs  all  healthy;  removed  the 


Jtomacij  and  contents  ,  took  charge  of  them  ;  earned  them  (o  Phil¬ 
adelphia  and  placed  them  in  the  hands  of  Professor  Rogers  for 
analysis;  strychnia  was  found  in  both  stomach  and  contents.  Heard 
?-he  evidence  detailed  at  the  inquest,  and  from  the  symptoms — their 
course  and  termination,  attendant  circumstances  and  result  of  post 
mortem — believed  that  the  deceased  died  of  poison  by  strychnia  r 
Symptoms  of  strychnia  poisoning — tetanus  and  convulsions,  ending 
speedily  in  death  or  recovery. 

Cross-Examined  by  Defence.  Tetanic  convulsions  are  pecu¬ 
liar  to  Tetanus — (Ideopatbic  and  Trauematic) — and  poisoning  by 
strychnia  and  Brucia,  alkoloids  derived  f?am  mix  vomita,  Sfc.  1  rr 
apoplexy  and  epilepsy  the  convulsions  may  similate  those  of  Teta- 
imis  and  strychnia,  hut  the  patient  would  be  unconscious.  Believed 
the  color  tests  for  strychnia,  in  competent  hands,  are  relra-ble.  Hare 
read  Dr.  Taylor’s  Work  on  Strychnia  ;  read  it  as  a  whole,  not  rn 
detached  sentences.  Post  mortem  about  tbi-ity-six  liou-rs  a-fier  death  ; 
opened  cavity  of  the  chest;  lungs  healthy;  heart  healthy.  and 
empty  on  both  sides  ;  extended  incision — tied  both  orifices  of  the 
stomach — removed  it  and  emptied  contents  into  a  bottle  ;  wrapped 
the  stomach  in  paper — removed  calvarium,  and  examined  brain, 
medulla  oblongata  and  upper  portion  of  spinal  cord  ;  healthy.  The 
stomach  was  placed  in  a  wide-mouthed  bottle,  and  alcohol  poured 
around  it  in  Dr.  Read’s  office.  I  added  alcohol  to-  the  contents  af¬ 
terwards.  Both  bottles  were  sealed  by  me,  under  my  private  seal, 
and  opened  by  Dr.  Rogers  in  my  presence. 

Testimony  of  Dr.  A.  ll~.  Bead.  Was  summoned  as  a  juror,  ami 
requested  by  Tr.  Browning  to  aid  Lu  making  post  mortem  examina¬ 
tion. 

Whilst  Drs.  Read  and  Browning  were  standing  con  verging,  Juliu- 
son  came  up  and  begged  that  no  examination  should  be  made,  alleg¬ 
ing  as  his  reason,  that  the  necessary  mutilation  of  his  wife’s  body 
would  be  repulsive  to  his  feelings.  Read  said  to  him  that  the  in¬ 
vestigation  would  lend  to  establish  his  innocence,  if  he  were  rw>t 
guilty,  and  should  therefore  be.  demanded  by  him  ;  that,  if  he  were 
guilty,  the  fact  should  be  disclosed,  by  aH  possible  means.  To  ibis 
he  made  no  reply,  absenting  himself  immediately. 

Examination  twenty-four  hours  after  death.  Body  stiff  andiigid  , 
the  weather  being  warm,  petrefaclion  had  set  in,  rendering  abdomen 
tense  and  tympanitic  ,  opened  first  the  cavity  of  the  chest,  exposing 
hroit  and  lungs;  found  heail  empty  and  flabby,  otherwise  healthy  ; 
lings  healthy  ;  all  the  great  vessels  free  from  disease  or  ieticn 


'21 

•Extending  incision,  came  t©  stum  a  cl  i  ;  tied  first  pjloric  oiihc-e 
’then  cardiac  ;  removed  viscus  and  set  aside. 

Examined  next  into  the  condition  of  the  brain,  membranes,  me¬ 
dulla  oblongata  and  upper  portion  ef  the  spinal  marrow  -  ail  of  which 
organs  were  found  in  a  perfectly  healthy  state.  The  contents  of 
the  stomach  were  then  emptied  info  a  bottle,  and  the  stomach  itself 
wrapped  in  papery  the  whole  placed  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Brown¬ 
ing,  for  preservation  and  future  examination. 

fn  reply  to  a  question  by  Attorney  for  Commonwealth,  witness 
stated  : — That  strychnine  as  usually  seen  in  the  shops  is  a  grayish 
white  powder,  of  an  intensely  bitter  laste,  soluble  in  about  7000 
parts  of  cold  and  about  2500  parts  of  boiling  water; — much  more 
soluble  in  alcohol,  ether,  &c., —  most  so  in  chloroform,  which  requires 
only  10  parts  to  1  ;  that  the  characteristic  symptom  of  poisoning  by 
it,  is  convulsion  ol  a  character  denominated  by  the  -profession  Ionic, 
te  distinguish  from  another  class  denominated  clonic,  the  Ionic  being 
a. fixed  and  rigid  contraction  of  the  voluntary  muscles ;  while  in  the 
clonic  there  is  a  rapid  alternation  of  contraction  and  relaxation,  as  is 
commonly  seen  in  ’fits  or  -epilepsy.  (The  -term  tetanic  is  used  sy¬ 
nonymously  with  tonic,  for  the  reason  that  tonic  convulsions  are 
found  only  in  Tetanus,  either  produced  by  a  wound — and  thence 
denominated  irttumahe — or  occurring  from  constitutional  causes,  such 
as  exposure  to  intense  heat,  Sec.,  &c.,  then  denominated  idiopathic. 
The  term  tetanoid  would  probably  be  better  as  applied  to  the  Teta- 
■mis,  or  Ionic,  or  tetanic  convulsions  produced  by.  strychnine,  there 
being  marked  distinction-s  between  ordinary  Tetanus,  and  tetanoid 
convulsions  resulting  from  a  poisonous  dose  of  ihat  substance.)  — 
That  the  convulsions  produced  by  strychnine  are  sudden  in  their 
invasion  ;  the  patient  and  friends  are  startled  by  rapid  transition  from 
health  to  alarming  di-seaseq  that  the  course  of  the  attack  is  marked 
by  minutes,  rarely  by  more  than  from  one  to  three  floors,  only  one 
fatal  case,  that  of  Dr.  Gardiner,  having  survived  as  much  as  three 
hours,  fn  poisoning  by  strychnia  consciousness  is  always  retained, 
the  poison  expending  its  force  upon  the  medulla  oblongata  and  me¬ 
dulla  spinalis  ;  the  cerebrahlobcs,  or  intellectual  post  ion  </f  the  brain, 
remaining  intact.  That  strychnia  probably  produces  death  by  fixing 
the  resphatory  mu-soles,  and  glottis  -or  upper  -porlien  of  the  windpipe, 
rigidly  and  immovably,  thereby  cutting  off  entirely  (lie  supply  of 
almospheric  air,  and  as  effectually  suspending  respiration  as  if  the 
rSi'bje-ci  were  strangulated;  the  empty  condition  of  the  .heart,. ic 


Jtiusc  cases  where  it  is  found,  may  result  from  spasm  of  that  orga3>„ 
in  articulo  moitis  ;  death  probably  occurring  in  some  cases  from  the 
same  cause. 

From  the  evidence  of  Carter  ami  Gearing  do  you  consider  i* 
yrobable  that  Ails.  Johnson  died  of  poisoning  by  strychnine  ? 

Considering  the  administration  of  a  bitter  substance  the  accession 
of  the  sudden  and  invariable  symptoms  of  poisoning  by  strychnia  ~ 
the  rapidly  fata!  result  ;  the  failure  of  the  post  mortem  examination, 
to  reveal  any  natural  cause  of  death  ;  and  the  discovery  of  the- 
poison  in  the  stomach, —  1  cannot  entertain  a  reasonable  doubt  that 
the  deceased  came  to  her  death  by  strychnia. 

Dr.  R.  E  Rogets-,  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  being  called! 
to  the  standy  testified,  That  during  the  last  summer  Bh  Browning' 
called  upon  him-,  and  stated  that  he  had  been  commissioned  by  the- 
Commonwealth's  Attorney  of  Rappahannock  county,  Virginia,  to 
deliver  into  his- charge  certain  materials  which  he  hod  brought  with- 
him,  and  to  request  his  analysis  of  the  same  for  poison  ;  and  named! 
strychnia  as  the  substance  suspected  ;  that  after  taking  the  precau¬ 
tionary  steps  of  providing  himself  with  pure  re-agents  for  the  pur¬ 
pose,  he  entered  upon- the  analysis. 

The  materials  which  had  been  furnished  to  him  were  in-  hvo> 
vessels.  One  contained  an  empty  human  storrtach\  tied*  at1  both- 
extremities,  and  having  alcohol  poured  around  it ;  the  ohfter  con¬ 
tained  what  had  been  the  contents  of  the  stomach*  The  appearance- 
of  the  stomach- was  for  the  most  part  pale,  with-  a  blush  or  slights 
redness  at  the  greater  curvature,  or  towards  the  cardiac  orifice  ~  no 
sign  of  disease,  ulceration  or  corrosion-  was  visible  about  the  organs 
The  contents  of  the  stomach  was  a  nearly  homogeneous  liquid  mass,, 
sontaining  a  few  cherries,  some  white  fibrous  portion*  of  asparagus*, 
undigested,  (Hakes  suspended  throughout  it  of  what  had  the  appear¬ 
ance  of  the  pulpy  interior  of  lemon,  and  &  single  worm  Lumbrkusd 
about  six  inches  in  length'. 

in  the  chemical  exam: nation-  of  these-  materials  four  separate 
analyses  were  performed.  The  methods  of  G-irwood  and  Rogers,  off 
Stas  and  of  Letheby  were,  with  slight  modifications  suggested  by 
the  circumstances,  respectively  pursued.  In  each  case  a  nearly 
white  semi-crystalioe  substance  was  obtained,  which’  possessed  ara 
intensely  bitter  taste. 

This  substance,  successively  submitted  to  the  action  of  su-Tphrwic 
acld.-aod.' bichromate  of  pot  ass  a — of  sulphuric  acid.  and.  deutonid* 


') 


28 

of  lead,  and  of  sulphuric  acid  and  deutoxide  of  manganese,  gave 
evidence  that  it  was  strychnia,  by  the  production  of  the  character* 
istic  series  of  colors,  commencing  with  a  deep  blue,  and  passing 
successively  through  violet,  purple  and  red.  When  a  portion  in 
solution  in  sulphuric  acid  was  placed  upon  platinum  foil  made  the 
positive  pole  of  a  feeble  galvanic  battery,  the  characteristic  color 
was  produced  corresponding  to  that  which  results  from  a  similar 
treatment  of  strychnine.  The  physiological,  or  frog  test  of  Marshall 
Hall,  was  next  resorted  to.  For  this  purpose  a  portion  of  the  semi- 
crystaline  substance  obtained  in  the  analysis  was  dissolved  in  weak 
ascetic  acid  and  largely  diluted  with  water.  In  one  experiment  a 
frog  was  immersed  in  the  liquid,  and  after  a  short  interval  it  became 
convulsed  with  violent  tetanic  spasms,  and  died.  In  another  exper¬ 
iment  a  portion  of  the  liquid  was  introduced  into  a  slight  wound 
made  in  the  thigh  of  the  animal,  and  after  a  brief  interval  a  similar 
tetanic  spasm  ensued,  and  it  died.  From  all  of  these  facts,  Dr. 
Rogers  concluded  that,  beyond  a  doubt,  the  material  which  he  had 
obtained  in  the  analysis  of  the  stomach  and  contents  was  Strychnia, 

Miss  Lyons  called.  Did  not  know  anything  of  the  circumstances. 
Her  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Johnson  was  short.  Went  to  the  house 
after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Johnson.  Saw  the  deceased  at  her  residence 
a  short  time  before,  when  she  spoke  of  her  good  health. 

Mr.  Corbin  called.  I  lived  with  Mr.  Johnson  about  two  year* 
ago — think  it  was  in  the  years  1856  and  1857.  Have  seen  him  in 
bed  with  Miss  Shreve  at  different  times.  He  was  lying  on  the  right 
side  of  her — didn’t  see  anything  else.  Mrs.  Johnson  was  usually  in 
a  trundle  bed  with  the  children,  Mr.  Johnson  and  Miss  Shreve  lying 
-  in  the  other  bec( — the  big  bed.  Have  se°n  them  thus  often.  Have 
taken  letters  from  the  postoffice  at  Washington  for  Miss  Shreve, 
Went  in  the  room  to  give  them  to  her,  and  once  held  the  candle  for 
her  to  read  them.  Johnson  was  in  bed  with  her  at  th*J  time — it  was 
10  or  11  o’clock  at  night.  Saw  him  several  times ;  once  he  covered 
up  his  head,  but  I  knew  he  was  there.  Mrs.  Johnson  was  awake. 
I  suppose  he  got  used  to  it.  Could  not  tell  if  Miss  Shreve  was  in  a 
family  way. 

Cross-Examined  by  Defence.  The  house  was  a  large  one. — 

Went  into  Johnson’s  room  freely.  Johnson  and  Miss  S - - 

attempted  no  concealment.  Mr s.  Johnson  said  to  witness  she  did 
not  like  such  proceedings  ;  but  this  was  on  an  occasion  of  Ids  going 


sipigh-riding  with  Miss  Shrove.  Was  on  good  terms  with  Mr.  J. 
and  .1/iss  S.  Never  heard  Mrs.  Johnson  complain  of  his  being  in 
bed  with  Miss  S. 

James  Deadman  called.  Am  p^st  master  at  Washington,  Va.,  or 
rather,  I  should  say,  deputy  post  master.  [Here  the  witness  was 
shown  a  number  of  letters,  and  asked  by  the  prosecuting  Attorney 
if  he  could  identify  any  of  them  as  having  been  delivered  from  his 
o$ice.  These  letters  are  the  original  of  the  ones  published  in  the 
latter  part  of  our  pamphlet  ]  Witness  continued  :  Recognised  two 
— Recognised  another,  he  thougbt-^especiallv  the  last. 

Cross  examined  by  Defence ,  Took  particular  notice  of  tlie 
loiters  in  the  office;  had  heard  rumors,  which  led  him  to  do  so. 
Miss  Shreve  once  came  in  the  office  and  wrote  a  letter ;  thinks 
it  was  in  Feb.,  i858.  I  was  appointed  deputy  P.  M.  in  1857. 
About  the  time  she  left,  Johnson  called  and  told  rae  not  to  mail 
the  letter.  I  of  course  refused,  and  sent  it  to  its  proper  desti¬ 
nation.  Johnson  received  one  a  short  time  after— about  the 
1st  of  March.  [Here  two  letters  were  shown  witness.]  I  be¬ 
lieve  they  are  the  letters.  Both  came  in  the  same  way  bill.  The 
last  letter  came  to  the  office  the  day  Mrs.  Johnson  died.  I  de.- 
livercd  it  to  Mr.  Billiard,  the  jailor.  Usually  delivered  the  let¬ 
ters  to  Mr.  Johnson,  with  the  exception  of  one,  which  was  given 
to  servant. 

Miss  Lucinda  Hoff .  Heard  of  Mrs  Johnson’s  illness ;  went 
to  the  house,  but  she  was  dead  half  an  hour  before  I  got  there. 
Johnson  wanted  me  to  swear  she  wras  subject  to  fits,  if  the  doc¬ 
tors  should  examine  her.  I 'refused  to  do  so.  He  complained 
that  his  wife  was  not  put  away  decently.  Said  he  had  no  doubt 
his  wife  was  poisoned,  but  the  question  was,  who  did  it?  I  re? 
fused  to  swear  that  his  wife  was  in  ill  health.  She  was  always 
healthy  as  far  as  I  knew.  Johnson  turned  off  and  left  me. — r 
Mrs.  Hopper  was  present  and  heard  same  conversation  or  part 
of  it.  I  asked  him,  if  he  was  satisfied  his  wife  was  poisoned, 
why  object  to  the  doctor’s  examining?  lie  hung  his  head  and 
said  nothing.  Was  not  in  the  habit  of  visiting  Johnson’s  house 
for  twelve  or  fifteen  months  before  the  death  of  his  wife.  Saw 
her  a  short  time  before  her  death — perhaps  a  month.  Ilcjr 
health  was  generally  good.  Saw  her  at  Mrs,  Iloutcn’s. 


25 

In  reply  'to  a  question  by  the  Commonwealth’s  Attorney, 
witness  further  said  :  I  quit  visiting  the  house  of  Johnson,  be¬ 
cause  his  conduct  was  such  that  no  respectable  female  should 
visit  it.  Saw  and  heard  enough  of  my  own  knowledge.  Saw 
a  lady,  Miss  Mary  E.  Shreve,  at  his  house,  and  believed  what 
was  said  of  their  intimacy.  Saw  them  in  the  lot  together.™ 
Passed  through  the  room  twice ;  she  went  out  with  Mr.  John¬ 
son  ;  staid  in  the  kitchen.  Miss  Shreve  sat  at  the  table,  but 
exchanged  no  words  with  me  or  Mrs.  Johnson.  Johnson  spoko 
surly  to  his  wife,  in  reply  to  questions  asked  him.  Witness,  in 
*  reply  to  a  pointed  question  by  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
said  :  She  thought  Miss  Shreve  was  pregnant — looked  like 
other  married  ladies. 

Cross  examined  by  defence.  Have  known  Mrs.  Johnson  since 
the  birth  of  her  first  child.  Have  not  known  her  sick  since. — 
Was  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  II — - — •  about  a  month  before  her 
death.  Lived  about  a  mile  from  Johnson’s  house. 

Mrs.  Hopper  called.  Was  informed  by  one  of  my  servants 
of  Mrs.  Johnson’s  death.  Went  there  as  I  usually  do  to  any 
of  my  neighbors,  when  they  are  in  adversity  or  affliction. — . 
Knew  nothing  of  the  post  mortem  examination  until  I  got  there. 
Saw  Johnson  ;  he  said  his  wife  was  not  in  her  right  mind  at 
times.  Knew  Mrs.  Johnson ;  visited  her  in  her  afflictions 
(meaning  on  ocersions  of  child-birth.)  Enjoyed  as  good  health 
as  any  -woman  I  know.  Never  heard  of. her  having  spasms — > 
never  saw  any  thing  of  them.  Whilst  under  Mr.  Johnson’s 
roof,  never  saw  any  thing  improper  in  his  conduct  towards 
Miss  Shreve. 

[Not  cross-examined  h}7  defence. 

Mrs.  Harris  called.  Know  but  very  little.  Saw  Mrs.  John¬ 
son  a  month  before  her  death.  Saw7  her  at  Mr.  Ilouton’s.  Sho 
expressed  herself  thankful  for  the  good  health  with  which  sho 
had  been  blesSed.  Two  years  before,  I  heard  her  reiterate  the 
same.  I  thought  her  a  very  healthy  woman. 

Isaac  II.  Hoff  called.  I  was  at  Mr.  Johnson’s.  Mr.  Lilliard 
came  with  the  coffin.  Was  out  in  the  back  yard.  Johnson 
asked  L - -  what  he  charged  for  the  coffin.  Lilliard  said  he 


would  answer  him  some  other  time.  Said  nothing  to  him  about 
post  mortem  examination.  (Something  was  said  about  cabbage 
seed,  not-hoard  by  reporter.) 

Cross  examined  by  defendant' s  counsel.  Mr.  Lilliard  made 
the  coffin.  Johnson  hurried  Lilliard  to  put  his  wife  in  the  cof¬ 
fin,  saying  “there  was  no  time  for  a  post-mortem  examination.” 
[Here  the  witness  became  somewhat  excited  at  a  question  pro¬ 
pounded  by  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  which  closed  his  examina¬ 
tion.] 

Miss  Susan  Elliott  called.  Am  acquainted  with  Mr.  John- 
son.  Knew  his  wife.  Heard  Mr.  Johnson  say  to  his  wife,  about 
four  years  ago,  that  he  married  her  for  riches,  not  for  love. 

Richard  Harris  called.  Was  one  of  the  jury  of  inquest. — 
Johnson  sent  for  me  to  come  to  hisxoom.  Called  on  me  to  be 
his  friend.  Had  previously  told  me  that  he  would  not  be  sur¬ 
prised  to  find  his  wife  dead  at  any  time.  Mr.  Johnson  had 
strychnia  in  his  possession.  I  purchased  some  of  it  myself  a 
short  time  before  the  death  of  Mrs.  Johnson. 

Cross-examined  by  defence.  I  purchased  the  strychnia  of 
Johnson  about  two  months  before  his  wife’s  death.  He  made  no 
secret  of  having  it.  I  had  sheep  killed,  and  got  it  to  poison  dogs. 

John  Lyons  called.  Had  but  a  short  acquaintance  with  the 
prisoner.  Prisoner  had  told  him  that  he  did  not  think  his  wife 
would  live  long  ;  she  had  spasms  ;  and  that  the  doctors  thought 
so.  Knew  Mrs.  Johnson,  and  considered  her  healthy.  Was  on 
a  visit  to  Johnson’s  two  weeks  before  her  death;  saw  nothing 
of  her  beimr  in  ill  health. 

O 

(Not  cross-  examined.) 

William  G-ore  called.  Mr.  Johnson  came  to  the  still-house 
in  April,  1858,  with  a  vial  of  strychnia.  (Here  Mr.  Scott,  one 
of  defendant’s  counsel,  wished  to  know  if  it  was  to  put  in  the 
whiskey.  Laughter.)  Said  he  got  it  to  protect  his  shcep.-^- 
(After  some  other  unimportant  questions,  the  witness  was  re¬ 
quested  by  the  Commonwealth’s  Attorney  to  come  near  the 
desk,  for  a  private  interview.  To  this  he  objected,  saying  “ho 
said  nothing  in  the  case  save  in  public.” 

(Not  cross-examined ) 


Amos  Dear  called.  In  June  Mr.  Johnson  was  at  ray  hausen 
Enquired  in  regard  to  the  health  of  his  family  ;  said  he  would 
not  be  surprised  to  hear  of  the  death,  of  his  wife  at  any  time,, 
as  she  was  subject  to  spells.  Asked  if  bp  could  get  some 
lemons.  This  was  a  few  days  before  the  death  of  his  wife. 

Beniamin  E.  Miller  called.  Was  at  Johnson’s  house,  the  day 
of  the  inquest.  Went  at  the  request  of  the  prisoner.  Said  he 
did  not  want  the  physicians  to  make  a  post-mortem  examina¬ 
tion  ;  did  not  know  what  his  friends  in  Loudoun  would  think. 

A.  J.  Brothertoii  called.  I  went  up  to  Johnson’s  in  Febru¬ 
ary,  1858,  on  a  visit  and  partly  on  business.  Staid  all  night. 
Had  frequently  been  invited  there  by  Mr.  Johnson.  Whilst 
Johnson  and  myself  were  sitting  together,  in  presence  of  his 
wife,  I  remarked,  “It  was  the  first  night  I  had  spent  from  my 
family  for  some  time.”  He  s?,id  it  was  more  than  he  could  say; 
he  was  away  often.  Said  his  wife  thought  he  was,  going  to  get 
another  woman ;  and  if  he  did,  (turning  to  Mrs.  J.)  could  he 
get  her  consent  ?  Mrs.  Johnson  got  up  and  wont  out  of  the 
room,,.  Johnson  then  said,  the.  reason,  why  she  would  not  con¬ 
sent,  he  would  not  get  any  more  children  by  her. .  Was  in  Mr. 
Holland’s  shop  on  one.  occasion.  Mr.  Johnson  came  in.  We 
Were  speaking  ef  coffins,  price,  &c.  Mr.  Johnson,  enquired  the 
different  prices,  of  coffins,  &c. 

Here  the  case  'was  rested  by  consent  of  counsel.  Thirty-seven 
witnesses  had  been  summoned  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner  ;  but^ 
out  of  the  panel,  six  only  were,  examined.  Their  testimony 
naught  in  his  behalf. 


mrilOM  Foil  THE  DEFENDANT. 

Elizabeth  Houghton  called :  Was  acquainted  with  Mr.  anq 
Mrs.  Johnson  ;  lived  within  a  mile  of  them  ;  visited  them  occa¬ 
sionally,  and  worked  for  them  ;  have  frequently  dined  with 
them — never  saw  any  bad  treatment  on  the  part  of  Johnson 
towards  his  wife — always  thought  they  lived  affectionately. 

Hot  cross-examined  by  Commonwealth. 

Mr.  Smith  called.  Lived  with  Mr.  Johnson  two  or  three. 


ss 


years  ago.  Lived  with  him  four  or  five  months.  Saw  nothing 
between  them — thought  they  lived  agreeably.  Never  heard  $ 
cross  word  between  them.  She  was  complaining  whilst  I  was 
there,  but  never  saw  her  lie  down. 

Not  Gross-examined. 

Dr.  B.  F.  Kinsey  called.  Here  Mr.  Scott,  one  of  John¬ 
son’s  counsel,  presented  a  statement  to  the  Court  to  the  effect 
that  Dr.  K.  was  seriously  unwell,  and  unable  to  attend.  By 
consent  of  counsel  the  following  paper  was  read,  in  words  to 
the  effect,  as  it  was  not  distinctly  heard  by  the  reporter  : 

“Mr.  Johnson  obtained  aloes  of  me,  as  he  had  frequently 
done  before.  Got  some  a  short  time  before  the  death  of  his 
wife  ;  the  quantity  I  do  not  recollect.  I  always  supposed  they 
were  for  his  own  use.” 

31rs.  Grandstaff  called.  Counsel  for  prisoner  stated  that 
she  was  absent,  but  produced  a  statement  from  under  her  hand 
to  the  effect  that  on  one  occasion  she  was  at  prisoner’s  house, 
Saw  quinine  administered  to  Mrs.  Johnson.  Mrs.  J.  com¬ 
plained  of  meanness  of  the  prisoner — said  he  wanted  to  get 
her  out  of  the  way,  &c. 

Here  counsel  for  prisoner  offered  to  waive  further  of  this 
testimony,  if  the  commonwealth’s  attorney  would  waive  tho 
dying  declarations  of  Mrs.  Johnson.  Agreed  to. 

Mr.  Thrift  called.  Was  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Johnson. 
She  was  a  Miss  Dulen. 

In  reply  to  a  question  to  the  effect,  witness  further  stated — 
He  did  not  know  of  any  member  of  the  family  that  had  died 
suddenly.  Did  not  know  of  any  peculiarity  in  the  family  in 
that  respect.  His  wife  was  a  sister  of  Mrs,  Johnson.  Had 
never  heard  that  any  of  the  family  were  subject  to  sudden 
death. 

Daniel  Updike  called.  Was  acquainted  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Johnson  when  they  were  married.  Had  occasion  to  visit  them 
frequently.  Never  saw  any  bad  treatment  on  the  part  of 
Johnson  towards  his  wife.  Prisoner  was  married  in  1850.  In 
1851  Mrs.  Johnson’s  health  was  bad,  but  got  better;  for  some 
t;yo  or  three  years  after,  was  healthy.  Toward  tho  latter  part 


of  her  life  heard  no  complaint  of  illness.  He  conversed  with 
her  a  short  time  before  her  death,  and  she  appeared  cheerful 
and  lively.  This  was  only  his  opinion. 

Not  cross-examined. 

The  evidence  on  Loth  sides  being  here  closed,  Mr.  Tebbs, 
of  Loudoun,  commenced  the  prosecution  on  behalf  of  the 
Commonwealth.  His  speech  was  a  masterly  effort,  and  we 
regret  being  unable  to  give  it  entire,  or  even  a  fair  synopsis 
of  it.  To  have  published  the  speeches  of  counsel,  would 
have  extended  our  pamphlet  to  a  length  far  beyond  that 
originally  intended,  and  therefore  we  content  ourselves  with 
such  remarks  as  the  occasion  suggested. 

Mr.  Tebbs  prefaced  his  argument  by  saying,  “He  came 
not  there  to  persecute  the  prisoner — he  came  to  prosecute. 
The  murderer’s  victim  was  a  near  relative  of  a  neighbor 
and  friend  of  his,  and  at  his  solicitation  he  came;  but,  with 
the  inward  resolve  that  if  the  testimony  adduced  on  the 
occasion  did  not  fully  and  clearly  satisfy  him  of  the  guilt 
of  the  prisoner,  he  would  withdraw  from  the  case.  He  had 
listened  attentively;  and  there  was  not  now  a  lingering 
doubt  in  his  mind  of  the  guilt  of  the  accused.  If  he  thought 
otherwise,  he  would  not  ask — he  would  not  accept — a  ver¬ 
dict  of  “guilty”  at  the  hands  of  the  jury,”  &c. 

Mr.  Tebbs  spoke  about  four  hours,  and  was  followed  by 
Mr.  Scott,  of  Fauquier,  the  leading  counsel  of  the  prisoner. 
His  argument  was  an  able  and  ingenious  one,  filled  with 
legal  lore,  wit  and  sarcasm.  In  him  the  prisoner  had  re¬ 
posed  his  main  chance  of  acquittal — Mr,  S.  occupying  at 
the  bar  of  Rappahannock,  somewhat  the  position  of  the 
late  S.  S.  Prentiss,  of  Mississippi,  on  his  circuit,  to  wit:— 
“If  a  fellow  committed  murder  and  Prentiss  couldn’t  clear 
him,  he  ought  to  be  hanged,  and  be  d — d  to  him.”  Mr, 
Scott  evidently  found  he  had  a  Sysphean  stone  to  roll ;  but 
he  did  all  that  power,  genius  and  eloquence  could  do,  to 
avert  the  doom  of  his  client. 

Mr.  Scott  was  followed  by  Mr.  Jones,  in  a  few  brief  re? 


marks  pertinent  to  the  case,  and  who  was  followed  by  J. 
Y.  Menifee,  Esq.,  the  Commonwealth’s  Attorney,  who 
closed  the  argument  on  behalf  of  the  State. 

After  a  short  summing  up  by  the  Judge,  the  case  was 
.given  to  the  Jury  at  about  half-past  three  o’clock  in  the 
•evening  of  the  11th  of  March,  it  having  occupied  the  entire 
time  of  the  Court  since  its  sitting.  The  Jury  retired  to 
their  room,  and  were  absent  about  ten  minutes,  when  they 
returned  into  Court  prepared  to  .announce  their  verdict 
through  their  foreman.,  John  G.  Parks,  Esq.,  which  was, 
•^Guilty  ge  Murder  in  the  First  Degree.”  They  were 
then  discharged,  and  the  prisoner  remanded  to  the  .custody 
of  the  Sheriff,  and  by  him  rc-cond  acted  to  prison.  On  this 
occasion  there  was  little  attention  paid  to  his  exit.  We 
closely  watched  his  countenance  on  the  rendition  of  the 
verdict.  JSTot  a  muscle  moved,  nor  could  the  slightest 
change  be  detected  in  his  countenance.  lie  appeared  a# 
stoical  and  indifferent  to  his  fate  as  one  can  well  imagine. 
His  cheek  neither  blanched  nor  paled,  or  his  lip  quivered, 
and  the  only  sign  of  emotion  to  he  detected  in  him  was  a 
nervous  twitching  of  his  fingers,  accompanied  by  a  scowf- 
jng  glance  which  he  cast  upon  the  large  crowd  of  anxious 
spectators  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 

Indeed,  on  this  day — the  day  which  consigned  him  to  .a 
disgraceful  death  by  hanging  on  the  gallows,  his  demeanor 
and  general  hearing  appeared  to  have  undergone  a  complete 
metamorphosis.  His  general  bearing  during  the  entire  trial 
had  been  one  of  an  humble  and  resigned  nature,  seldom 
enlivened  by  a  smile  on  his  part ;  on  the  contrary,  rather 
bearing  the  appearance  of  a  man  conscious  .of  his  innocence, 
but  the  victim  of  circumstances  beyond  his  control,  and 
which  he  was  unable  to  explain. 

On  the  following  morning  lie  was  again  brought  into 
Court,  and  the  dread  sentence  of  the  law  pronounced  upon 
him  in  due  form.  He  still  maintained  his  stoicism  and 
indifference  to  the  dreadful  fate  which  awaited  him,  and  it 
was  not  until  Judge  Tyler  alluded  to  his  wife,  and  once 


Imppy  fireside,  that  the  least  sign  of  emotion  could  be'traceh. 
in  the  prisoner’s  eo ante- nance.  Here  his  feelings  sought 
vent  in  a  flood  of  tears.  Doubtless  the  shades  of  his  mur- 
‘d-ered  wife — his  murdered  babe,  accompanied,  by  the  vision 
«©f  one  whom  he  had  ruined — whom  he  bad  morally  murdered 
umd  cast  upon  the  cold  world,  a  poor,  blighted  thing  of 
teftrth,  flitted  before  his  vision  for  the  moment.  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  cause,  it  was  the  first  symptom  of  sorrow 
and  penitence  he  had  manifested  since  his -arrest.  But  even 
this  soon  wore  away,  to  give  place  to  the  stolid  appearance 
-of  a  hardened,  fmplueabie  wiliain. 

Being  ordered  to  arise,  Judge  Tyler,  before  pronouncing 
the  final  sentence  of  the  law,  addressed  to  him  the  follow- 
ling  chaste  and  eloquent  remarks,  which,  despite  the  genera1! 
fiiejudice  against  the  prisoner,  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of 
nearly  every  one  present.  Tt  was  as  follows-: 

•James  IT.  JeirasoN — You  have  been  indicted  in  this  Court 
ffor  the  murder  of  your  wife  by  the  administration  of  poison. 
You  have  had  a  fair  and  impartial  trial  by  an  intelligent 
Jury  of  this  *ceimty.  Yon  have  had  able  and  experienced 
-counsel,  whose  best  efforts  have  been  exerted  in  your  de- 
ifence — but  these  efforts  have  proved  hie  flee  trial  when  op¬ 
posed  to  the  irresistible  power  and  force  of  truth — and  the 
■Jury  have  returned  against  yon  a  verdict  of  ^guilty  of 
murder  in  the  first  degree.”  As  conscientious  Jurors  llicy 
•could  have  returned  no  other  verdict;  for  never  in  my 
-experience  have  I  seen  a  chain  of  ciremiistaiitisd.  evidence 
more  complete,  more  cemsistent,  or  more  xscrawdusive  of 
guilt.  Under  these  ei  ream  stances  the  law  demands  the 
.solemn  judgment  of  the  Court  on  this  verdict  of  the  Jurv, 
That  judgment  is  thcforfeitu.ro  of  life.  Death  is  the  penalty 
denounced  against  the  crime  you  have  perpetrated.  It  is 
right  and  just  that  it  should  be  so;  were  it  otherwise,  the 
"whole  frame-work  of  society  would  tumble  to  pieces.  No 
one  could  lie  down  in  peace,  or  rise  up  in  security ;  no  one 
•could  cat,  no  one  could  drink  without  fear  of  a  sudden  and. 
vielent  death.  I  do  not  desire  bv  any  remarks  I  shall  sub- 


jwii  fo  Leighton  the  anguish  of  your  feelings,  or  deepen  the 
gloom  and  horror  of  your  fate ;  hut  I  deem  it  proper  to 
endeavor  to  awoken  you  to  a  sense  of-  your  condition,  and 
to  say  to  you  that  whatever  peculations  yos  wwsy  bare  in¬ 
dulged  in  ns-  toyonr  elwttuces  to  escape  punrsiinsent,  that  the 
verdict  of  the  Jury  has  closed  the-  door  to  the  last  ray  of 
the  light  of  hope  There  is  no  hope  &r  on  this  side  of 
the  grave.  You  re  is  got  a  ease  to  excite  the  merry  or  sym¬ 
pathy  of  earthly  tribunals;  for  in  the  long black  catalogue 
of  guilt  ami  woe  ilj«t  make-  up  the  criminal  record!  which 
has  come  down  to  nsT  there  is  no  deed  that  stands  oat  in 
colors  of  deeper,  darker  malignity,  than  Yon  have 

murdered  l.y  the-  admin is t ratio &  of  poison  ai&  iinrooee-Dt  and 
unoffending  woman.  You l«vr& murdleved  ths-  wife-  of  your 
own  bosom-  She  who  sever  showedyou aught  bst  aflection 
— -sho  who  her®-  ^nm/erru  uffing  and  ia.  silence  the  keenest 
and  sorest  wouyds-  that  could  be  infiictetl  on  her  marital 
rights — the  slave  of  your  will — the  handmaid  of  your  house. 
You  have  murtk-red  th,?>  motifs  of  your  own  children — 
who  loved  them  as  a  mother  always  loves — as  a  mother  only 
loves.  Yon  hnv*  revered  with  ruthless  hand  the  dearest 
and  tendered.  ties  that  can  link  human  beings  together  ois 
this  earth;  and  hr  so  doing,  you  have  harried  your  confid¬ 
ing  victim  hdo  the  presence- of  her  Maker,  with  scarce  time 
la  repeal  the  prayer  of  the  jx>or  publicany  “■God  be  merciful 
to  me  a  owner.”  Your  home  is  abandoned — your  hearth 
is  desolate — yoatr  children  outcasts  on  the  cold  charity  of 
>bo  world  — your  wife  burned  to  an  untimely  tomb;  and 
you,  the  guilty  author  of  all  this  crime  and  wretchedness, 
kdanel  to-day  before  sue,  a  convicted  fe'ou,  awaiting  the 
sentence  that  is  to  consign  yo*r  try  the  gallows.  Wherefore 
i*  all  tills  ?  Its  source  and  eons»ru?mat5on  is  to  he  traced  to 
?u  adulterous  and  guilty  passion  which,  like  a  tornado,  has 
blasted  in  it.-  course  the  reputation  of  a  deluded  female, 
wrecked  her  pence  and  happiness  forever,  and  has  spread 
death,  desolation  and  destruction  over  you  and  yours,  I 
b>rbe;v.  however,  to  dwell  longer  on  this  tragic- tale.  He- 


33 

inanity  shudders  at  its  contemplation,  and  shrinks  back  ui 
horror  and  humiliation  at  its  recital.  Let  me,  however, 
exhort  you  to  direct  your  appeal  to  the  Throne  of  Mercy — 
to  the  Author  of  your  being — whose  law  you  have  violated 
and  whose  mandates  you  have  contemned.  You  will  not 
— 3’ou  cannot  dissemble  before  him.  His  all-seeing  eye 
was  upon  you  when,  under  the  guise  of  ministering  to  your 
wife  a  health-giving  draught,  you  presented  to  her  the  cup 
of  death,  and  caused  her  to  drain  it  of  its  last  drop.  Of 
that  cup  you  must  shortly  drink.  In  the  mysterious  ordi¬ 
nations  of  an  over-ruling  Providence,  the  “poisoned  chal¬ 
ice”  is  returned  to  your  own  lips — and  you  will  have  to 
drain  it  of  its  last  drop.  Prepare,  then,  for  that  awful 
event.  Think  no  more  of  the  things  of  time.  Why  would 
you  live  ! — to  have  the  slow,  unerring  finger  of  scorn  pointed 
at  you  to  the  latest  hour  of  your  existence — to  be  hissed 
and  hooted  at — shunned  and  'avoided,  by  your  fellow  crea¬ 
tures  as  a  walking  pestilence-— a  moral  leper  whose  touch 
would  be  contamination,  and  whose  association  would  bo 
moral  death.  Ho  !  think  no  more  of  time,  and  prepare  for 
eternity,'  'remembering  that  “it  is  not  all  of  life  to  live,  nor 
all  of  death  to  die  beyond  the  confines  of  this  mortal 
sphere  there  comes  a  second  death,  from  the  untold  horrors 
of  which  seek  to  be  saved  while  yet  you  may.” 

The  sentence  of  death  b}7  hanging  was  then  pronounced? 
and  Friday,  the  13th  of  May,  fixed  as  the  time  of  execution* 

Thus  ended  the  trial  of  James  IT.  Johnson.  For  cool, 
calculating  villainy — the  means  used  to  attain  his  end  and 
put  his  victim  out  of  the  way,  lias,  perhaps,  no  parallel  in 
the  criminal  calender,  if  we  except  the  celebrated  Palmer 
case  in  England,  and  a  more  recent  one  in  Hew  York, 
occurring  almost  simultaneously  with  Johnson’s  ;  though, 
in  the  latter,  arsenic  was  substituted  as  the  agent  of  death, 
in  lieu  of  strychnia. 

We  visited  the  deceased  in  prison  a  few  days  after  his 
conviction,  and  found  him  heavily  ironed,  and  a  guard 
placed -at  the  door  of  his  cell.  After  some  casual  remarks, 


34 

the  subject  of  his  recent  trial  ami  conviction  was  alluded 
to.  lie  declared  his  utter  innocence  of  the  crime  alleged 
against  him.  lie  said  he  had  no  right  to  complain  of  the 
Court  and  Jury,  in  view  of  the  evidence  as  developed  at 
the  trial.  He  believed  the  Jurors  acted  conscientiously, 
and  thought  they  would  have  acted  contrary  to  their  oaths 
had  they  brought  in  any  other  verdict  than  the  one  they 
did.  He  was  an  innocent  man — the  “victim  of  a  long  train 
of  unforeseen  circumstances,  which  he  was  unable  to  do 
away  with  or  explain. 

It  is  surmised  by  many  that  he  will  make  an  ultimate 
confession  of  his  guilt,  but  we  doubt  it. 


.11)6  £effeivs  of  ^jjHj  £.  Sftfefre. 

The  following  letters  of  Mary  E.  Shrove,  addressed  to 
James  H.  Johnson,  were  offered  in  evidence  by  the  prose¬ 
cuting  attorney,  but  ruled  out  by  Judge  Tyler,  in  the  ab¬ 
sence  of  any  proof  of  their  authenticity.  That  they,  are 
genuine  there  cannot  exist  a  doubt ;  more  especially  when 
taken  in  connection  with  the  evidence  adduced  at  his  trial. 
They  -were  read  in  Court  on  the  examining  trial,  and  went 
far  to  establish  in  the  mind  of  the  public  the  guilt  of  the 
prisoner.  Upon  their  introduction  at  his  final  trial,  Scott, 
one  of  the  prisoner’s  counsel,  declared  his  intention  to  file 
exceptions  to  the  Judge’s  ruling,  in  case  they  were  admitted 
as  evidence.  The  Commonwealth’s  Attorney,  J.  Y.  Men¬ 
ifee,  Esq.,  declined  pressing  their  introduction,  and  with¬ 
drew  them  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  refused  to  deliver  them 
to  prisoner’s  counsel,  unless  he  claimed  them  as  the  prop¬ 
erty  of  his  client,  &c. 

The  Prosecuting  Attorney  was  prepared  to  prove  the  fact 
of  correspondence  between  the  parties — identity  of  hand¬ 
writing  and  possession  on  the  part  of  the  prisoner;  but 
knowing  that  his  case  was  already  made  out,  and  that  his 
principal  witness  was  a  sorrow-stricken  female,  a  near  re)- 


35 


ative  of  the  writerj-he,  with  tlmt  humane  ancl  ehivalric 
spirit  which  distinguished  his  course  throughout  the  entir© 
trial,  forbore  to  press  the  matter.  That  their  authenticity 
coul'dliavc  been  easily  established,  there  is  not  a  doubt. 
The  unfortunate  Mary  E.  Shreve  could  have  been  produced 
in  Court,  if  necessary  ;  but  this  extreme  measure  was  not 
resorted  to. 

Names  have  been  erased  as  far  as  possible,  and  sentences 
dropped,  to  avoid  giving  pain  to  any  one  whose  name  ap¬ 
pears  amongst  the  list  of  Miss  S — — ’s  acquaintances,  and 
which  is  familiarly  used  in  her  letters. 

Monoay,  February  8,  1858. 

Dearest: — You  no  doubt  know  1  have  by  this  time  re¬ 
ceived  your  very  interesting  letter,  which,  believe  me,  was 
very  unexpected ;  for  so  tar  did  doubt  possess  my  mind,  I 
feared  never  to  see  or  hear  from  vou  again.  But  I  must 
stop  this,  for  it  is  cruel  of  me  to  torture  you  thus,  after 
receiving  so  kind  a  letter  from  you.  You  requested  me  to 
write  to  you  immediately.  I  received  your  letter  Saturday, 
and  this  is  only  Monday.  I  thought  I  would  wait  until 
to-day,  as  I  expected  to  go  down  to  cousin  Henry’s,  Sun¬ 
day.  Then  perhaps  I  could  tell  you  all — all,  at  least,  that 

I  dreaded.  It  was  the  second  time  I  had  seen  W - since 

I  came  home.  He  talked  some  about  old  tim.es,  but  noth¬ 
ing  serious.  When  I  was  going  to  get  ready  to  come  home, 

S - and  I  left  the  parlor  together.  W - overtook  us 

in  the  passage — put  his  arms  around  me  and  kissed  me. 
Now  I  have  told  you  all,  I  wonder  if  you  believe  me.  I 
don’t  think  he  loves  me  as  he  used  to,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
By  this  time  you  are  overlooking  for  something  more,  but 

I  have  not  much  to  tell.  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  M - 

Saturday  night,  and  directed  it  to  Bentonville.  I  did  not 
know  whether  that  was  her  post-office  or  not.  1  still  think 
of  taking  the  Bed  Hill  School  in  the  summer.  I  have 

been  down  to  Uncle  Bill  v’s.  B - and  I  talked  a  good 

deal  about  you.  You  must  know,  darling,  you  paid  noth¬ 
ing  for  that  bed,  as  the  note  was  only  given  to  those  you 


3G 


received  that  much  in  value  or  more  than  the  rest.  Y($} 
must  also  know  Unele  Billy  paid  Mathews  sixteen  dollars 
for  you.  You  know  it  all,  and  ought  to  tell  Aunt  Alice 
all.  She  can  only  dislike  you  the  more  when  she  finds  it 
out,  for  trying  to  deceive  her.  You  never  told  me  what 
you  went  to  "Warreoton  for,  or  your  business  in  Warrcnton. 
But  you  had  to  tell  a  story,  perhaps,  and  preferred  or  thought 
it  would  behest  to  say  as  little  about  your  visits  as  possible. 
My  health  is  improving,  as  is  natural.  You  know  how  you 
left  me,  and  promised  to  see  the  doctor,  but  you  must  not 

now  ask,  as  it  will  be  useless.  How  come  you  to  tell - 

- you  “wanted  to  see  the  children  so  badly,  and  they 

were  all  you  did  care  to  see  ?”  Let  me  tell  you  I  don’t 
know  what  your  privileges  arc,  but  she  makes  out  she 
thinks  very  little  of  you  for  it. 

- is  going  to  get  married  between  now  and  May. 

Mr. - is  going  to  ask - for  her  whenever  he  comes 

down.  She  is  expecting  him  every  day. - is  here 

— she  came  before  I  got  up.  You  must  not  laugh  at  this 
badly  written  letter,  dearest;  for,  some  how  or  other,  I 
cannot  write  at  all  when  I  am  writing  to  you,  or  as  well  as 
I  would  like  to.  Shall  I  ask,  darling,  if  ‘•'■you  ever  go  to  our 
baby's  grave  ?”  and  do  you  think  of  me  there  ?  Oh  !  I  am 
with  you — in  spirit,  in  feeliug,  if  not  personally.  Every 
morning,  when  I  lay  awake  in  bed,  how  I  wish  you  were 
with  me,  for  there  is  none  other  I  talk  to  or  love  like  you. 
Oh !  how  miserable  I  am  sometimes,  when  the  thought 
distracts  me  that  I  might  marry  another,  and  if  I  was  to, 
I  never  should  want  to  sec  you.  Then  I  will  be  willing  to 
give  you  up  to  some  other  girl  that  you  have  treated  like 
me.  Low,  darling,  it  does  seem  to  me  the  mail  is  very 
long  going  and  coming  this  short  distance.  I  shall  wait 
with  so  much  anxiety.  Now,  pray,  darling,  don’t  delay 
writing  after  receiving  this.  Uncle  James  Moore  was 
down  soon  after  you  went  home,  and  I  was  very  sorry  your 
colt  was  so  lame.  Frank  is  well  and  satisfied,  and  doing 
tolerably  well  at  school,  but  I  am  afraid  not  so  well  as  lie 


6 1 

%oialci.  Frank  Went  down  to  Uncle  Billy’s  with  me.  I  believe 
I  have  done  all  you  asked  of  me.  Give  my  respects  to  the 
doctor,  and  all  the  love  I  have  to  yourself,  and  believe,  as  yet,' 
(you  are  the  dearest. 

(Signed!)  MOLLIE. 

Mountain  View,  March  1st,  1858. 

Dearest  : — l  received  your  very  kind  and  consoling  letter,  but  did 
not  get  it  on  Saturday,  as  you  expected.  I  was  from  home  when  I 
got  it,  and  consequently  was  prevented  answering  you  until  now 
t  was  going  to  write  yesterday,  which  was  Sunday,  but  after  Dick 
left  (he  came  home  with  me)  IV— —  came  and  staid  until  bed  lime, 
and  I  was  still  prevented  from  doing  that  which  l  wished  to  do. 
You  must  excise  nte,  for  the  will  Was  good  to  do  that  which  l  con¬ 
sider  my  ditty,  though  I  ce  late  performing;  You  might  wonder 
what  f  was  doing  from  home  a  whole  week  and  better.  I  shall  tell 
you,  to  relieve  whatever  anxiety  might  he  occasioned.  I  had  been 

iquite  unwell,  and  little  or  nothing  to  do  for  some  time,  when  D - - 

tame  over  for  me;  to  spend  a  few  days  With  his  Jlla.  I  went  home 
with  him  on  Thursday;  Sunday,  I  started  home  in  the  sleigh  with 

D - He  has  an  elegant  sleigh— a  pair  of  mules,  and  between 

kixty  and  eighty  bells.  We  were  going  by  Cousin  Daniel’s  for 

A - ,  and  met  her  on  his  sleigh;  above  the  house,  going  to  the 

Valley.  So  we  turned  to  gc  back  with  them,  and  intended  to  go  to 
Cousin  Henry’s  to  dinner,  but  we  were  rather  early,  and  went  by 

the  Store.  We  met  C— — “there;  with  J- - S -  and  S - 

fcl - ,  going  home  with  him;  so  we  went  on  down  with  them. 

There  was  hetwieeh  twenty  and  thirty  young  people  to  dinner,  sup¬ 
per,  and  breakfast  next  morning.  Ail  the  young  ladies  and  gentle¬ 
men  went  to  Leesburg  to  preaching,  at  night,  but  myself.  [  gave  up 
friy  seat  on  D — ’s  sleigh  to  S —  B — .  I  believe  she  loves  him  ;  so 
do  all  the  girls.  I  feel  very  proud  indeed  to  know  one  I  once  loved 
is  such  a  general  favorite;  it  makes  me  satisfied  in  a  measure  of  my 
capacity  for  making  a  choice.  I  fear,  darling,  I  shall  wrong  yon 
with  this  long  story,  though  it  is  but  half  told.  Be.  it  said,  I  often 
thought  of  you,  and  longed  to  be  with  you,  dearest.  Dick  got  your 
last  letter  from  the  office,  as  we  were  coming  from  cousin  Henry’s. 
I  was  surprised  somewhat  at  the  post-mark,  and  broke  t  open  im- 
Mediately.  I  could  not  begin  and  read  it  through,  but  seemed  if  f 


o 


8 


must  read  it  all  at  once.  Need  1  tell  you  my  emotion  as  my  eyes 
rushed  on  some  parts  of  it.  Well,  I  ciied  there  on  the  sloigh  with 

D - .  O  !  little  did  he  know  as  he  teased  and  harassed  me  ffjf 

turns,  what  satisfaction,  what  relief  those  tears  brought.  Oh!  in¬ 
deed,  my  dearest,  it  was  bliss  to  fe#l,  to  know,  as  I  did  at  that  mo¬ 
ment,  you  must  love  me  for  the  sake  of  mine,  even  as  I  do  love 
you  ;  foi,  separated  as  we  are,  aud  under  some  circumstances,  I  am 
forced  to  listen  to  the  words  of  the  flatterers.  But,  do  not  (ear  for 
me  set — and,  don’t  I  trust  the  time  never  may  come  that  I  shall 
have  aught  to  regret.  You  can  save,  and  must  save,  ere  my  soul  be 
marked  with  further  guilt.  I  may  have  given  you  some  uneasiness 
by  not  saying  anything  about  my  health  ;  but,  that  I  can  remove,  as 
1  wish  you  perfectly  free  and  happy.  D —  went  with  me  up  to  Mr. 
Sinclair's,  to  see  Dr.  Fliun,  w  ho  is  tending  him.  We  had  our  lungs 
examined.  Both  of  our  left  lungs  are  affected — mine,  more  than 
his.  He  leaves  to  day,  and  his  son  is  coming  over  in  his  stead.  I 
am  going  to  be  operated  on  until  they  are  sound  again.  Ask  Dr. 
Kinsey  how  he  likes  the  practice  of  galvanism.  If  I  ever  have  the 
rheumatism,  I  intend  to  try  him  for  that,  also.  I  have  great  faith  in 
him,  and  am  very  anxious  for  you  to  try  him.  If  you  can  come 
over  whilst  he  is  in  attendance  on  Mr.  Sinclair,  you  can  be  operated 
on  for  little  expense.  If  not,  you  must  go  to  Frederick  to  see  him. 
1  don’t  expect  you  ever  wear  that  truss,  as  you  promised.  You 
spoke  of  keeping  one  promise  you  made  me,  and,  as  if  that  was  all  ? 
Oh  God  !  break  that  one.  As  proud  as  I  would  be  to  w  ear  the  ring, 
or  conceal  in  this  bosom  the  image  of  him  I  adore  ;  rather  this  be 
lost— eternally  lost,  for  it  only  affords  sensual  pleasures.  Let  all  be 
lost,  but  do  not  cause  me  to  doubt  your  nobleness  of  soul.  Again  : 
Do  not  stoop  to  anythin"  that  is  mean  and  low,  for  which  you  would 
have  to  lie  to  conceal.  Throw  off  that  way  of  concealment Be 
open,  be  firm,  and  above  all,  be  true.  Oh,  bow  truly  gratified, 
dearest,  am  I,  for  the  confidence  of  those  I  love.  There  is  nothing 
on  earth,  my  darling,  I  think,  let  alone  know,  but  I  would  tell  you 
without  hesitation.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  thought — and  it  is  only 
a  thought — and  shall  be,  until  lie  tells  me  positively  he  really  does 

love  me.  But  I  really  am  afraid  I  am  a  favo  ite  of  D - 's.  I  do 

not  want  to  be,  nor  do  I  take  any  pains  to  he. 

You  ought  to  scold  me  fur  writing  on  such  a  sheet  of  paper.  I 
asked  Pap  for  if,  and  he  gave  me  one  ;  but  after  he  saw  the  purpose 


f  was  going  to  put  it  lo,  he  told  me  there  was  belter  in  the  desk,  i 
wonder  if  he  would  have  thought  it  good  enough,  if  he  had  known 
who  I  was  writing  to.  I  hope  so,  darling.  You  should  not  hesitate 
one  moment  if  you  could  come,  for  I  never  hear  the  family  say 
anything  bad  about  you.  Come,  for  I  will  be  delighted  to  see  you 

whenevervou  think  it  worth  your - —  to  come  and  see  me,  I  would 

like  for  you  to  send  my  store  account  down,  or  bring  it  when  you 
come.  I  don’t  know  when  Pap  will  have  the  money,  but  if  he  had 
the  ball,  he  could  send  it  when  he  got  the  money.  And  my  doctor’s 
bill,  dear;  I  would  like  for  that  to  be  paid.  Do  you  ever  talk  to 
■  Dr.  Kinsey  about  me  ?  Ah  !  perhaps,  Like  me,  you  have  no  one  lo 
Salk  to  about  that  which  you  think  most  about.  I  go  on  a  heap  of 

nonsense  with  D - .  Let  me  tell  you  : — He  asked  - - -  for 

some  of  my  hair  to  make  a  ling.  I  whispered  to  her  to  get  some  of 
the  horse’s  tail,  and  she  got  some  of  mine  sure  enough,  and  he  would 
hardly  believe  it  was  mine.  lie  is  going  to  have  a  ring  made  for  it 
the  first  time  he  goes  to  Frederick.  Frank  is  well  and  hearty.  He 
was  the  first  one  that  carne  to  meet  me  when  I  came  home.  I  wisli 
I  could  take  more  pains  with  writing.  I  expect  you  think  1  take  no 
pains  because  L  am  writing  to  you  ;  but  it  is  not  so,  for  you  are  my 

only  confidant  and  correspondent.  Mr.  R - has  not  been  down 

yet.  - -  - -  wrote  for  him  to  come  down  the  first  week  in 

March,  or  never.  You  wished  to  know  “  what  I  did  with  our  let¬ 
ters  ?”  I  .always  carry  them  about  my  person.  I  will  be  so  glad 
when  I  get  my  portfolio,  as  I  can  lock  them  up,  for,  I  cannot  de¬ 
stroy  them.  Whenever  I  get  lonely  I  read  them.  Oh  !  they  are 
so  much  company  for  me.  I  shall  not  send  my  love  to  anyone  as 
f  have  none  for  any  but  you.  Receive  all  then  dearest,  though 
poor  the  offering  may  be.  As  yet  my  darling  you  are  the  dearest. 

"  (Signed)  ’  MOLLIE  E.  SHREVE. 

Write  soon— very  soon  and  tell  me  when  you’re  coming  down. 

Mountain  View,  March  30,  1858. 

Dear,  Dear  Uncle  : — I  commence  this  letter  now,  so  that  it 
may  reach  you  by  the  time  expected  and  promised.  I  would 
not  for  worlds  keep  you  in  suspense,  when  it  is  in  my  power  to 
do  otherwise  ;  for,  oh  !  darling,  if  like  me,  disappointment  must 
kill.  And  why  should  I  feel  so?  Does  it  not  seem  that  life 


4o 


was  made  with  bucIi  trials  for  me  ?  I  ought  not  to  complain  L; 
But,  oh,  clearest,  mj  mind  at  times  is  possessed  of  such  evili 
forebodings  that  I  cannot  refrain  from  writing  them  ;  and  oh  !'_ 
the  future  1  the  dark,  unfathomable  future  which  my  soul  dam 
not  point  as  bright  : — and  should  it  he  bright,  the  cloud  of  my 
past  life  will  ever  linger  over  me.  And  you — my  uncle,  my 
lover — the  man  that  I  adored,  never  so  loved  with  a  wicked,, 
idolatrous  love.  Yes,  I  feel  it  now.  But  I  am  writing  too,- 
much,  more  than  you  can  read,  and  think,  and  feel.  As  I  now 
feel,  I  sometimes  wish  I  was  lingering  away  with  consumption,, 
or  some  other  sure  and  fatal  disease,  and  that  my  loyr  my  bahy% 
were  living,  that  I  might  leave  as  a  legacy  my  sorrows,  written 
for  him  v#ho  never  would  cause  such..  You  did  not  love  me,, 
you  do  not  love  me.  Now,  oh,  God  !  did  not  your  tongue  say 
the  same — did  not  your  actions  prove  the  same  l  Yes,  you 
said  to  prove  your  love,  you  never  would  have  recourse  to  the- 
meanness  you  had  hitherto  practiced.  Was  not  that  promise- 
broken  ?  So  were  many  ethers.  If  it  were  not  wrong  to  go 
back  so  far — -to  divo  so  deep  into  the  past,  then  could  I  tell  you 
of  the  many  guilty,  guilty  things — oh  !;  it  makes  me  shudder 
to  think.  The  heart  of  woman,  wooed,  won,  aye,  yes,  by  hyp¬ 
ocritical  means,  then  broken,  then  left  a  barren  — Yes, 
if  you  bad  left  and  given  mo  my  baby,  then  indeed  would  the 
place  in  my  heart,  now  void,  been  occupied.  Oh,  indeed  it^ 
would  be  a  vain  wish,  and  yet  to  ms  i$  is  a  heavenly  thought. 
I  would,  yet  I  cannot  write  otherwise,  for  my  mind; is  fully  fillet^ 
with  this  one  subject.  My  wish  for  you  is  this— stay  with^ 
love  and  cherish  as  much  as  possible  the  being  yon  once  did, 
and  now  pretend,  to  love. 

Do  not,  in  answer  to  this,  say  anything  of  yourself,  for  need* 
I  say  you  have  ruined  aud  contaminated  two  hearts — bodies* 
and  souls: — either  far  tpo  yoblp  to  have  come  in  the  way  of  one- 
so  worthless  and  wicked  as  yours.  Don’t  you  accuse  me  o^ 
writing  falsely,  for  so  detestable  is  your  character,  I  dread  you.. 
Tho  very  words  of  affection  once  pronounced  by  you,  not  to  i»*, 
only,  but  your  wirc,  fdl  ine  with  dread  and  terror  ;  for  so  hyp- 


41 


* 


ocritieal  and  base  they  now  appear,  I  have  sounded.  But, 
thoughtless  as  I  then. was,  they  might  have  pleased.  Ah,  yes  ! 
I  loved  to  hear  them,  and  never  doubted  their  sincerity ;  but 
one  moment’s  reflection  would  have  told  me  what  no  one  could 
doubt.  A  man  with  a  wife  must  certainly  have  made  the  same 
professions  before— -yes,  and  with  your  children  to  prove  their 
connubial  love  and  wedded  happiness.  Of  all  this  }Tou  have 
robbed  me.  I  may  marry,  but  if  I  do,  my  bridal  days  will  not 
be  those  of  truthfulness,  sincerity,  and  the  modesty  of  a  girl, 
as  I  always  wished  them  to  be.  I  think  you  asked  when  last 
I  saw  you,  “what  }Tou  should  do  to  prove  your  love.”  Never 
speak  of  the  past— never  hint  it  to  me.  I  will  write  to  you 
sometimes,  perhaps  often,  but  not  as  I  have  written  heretofore. 
I  will  impose  the  same  silence  on  myself  as  I  have  already 
asked  of  you.  Frank  is  well.  Please  burn  this,  with  the  rest 
of  the  letters  I  have  written  you.  From  your  niece 

(Signed)  MOLLIE. 

P.  S. — I  have  not  spoken  of  the  remark  you  made,  “of 
revenging  your  enemies” — but  beware.  I  suppose  you  remem¬ 
ber  the  time  a  tear  may  have  shown  itself  in  every  eye,  but  oh, 
man,  stay  your  revenge  upon  the  innocent.  My  tears  are  not 
shed  for  your  words  of  mocking  power,  for  I  fear  them  not. 
Shame  be  upon  the  man  that  would  disgrace  an'cl  then  take  re¬ 
venge  upon  a  helpless  woman  !  In  pity  we  are  united. 

Mountain  View,  March  31,  1858. 

My  darling ,  my  all , — Forgive,  oh,  forgive  and  protect  me, 
for  life  is  dark— oh  !  so  very  dark;  my  darling,  and  hope  is 
nearly  gone.  I  would  not  have  written  you  that  awful  letter, 
but  oh  !  my  God  !  are  you  capable  of  the  meanness,  the  vile¬ 
ness — no— no  human  being  can  be.  You,  oh,  God  !  whom  I 
have  loved  so.  Dearest,  I  am  wretched,  miserable.  Could  I 
but  conceal  all,  or  tell  you  half  I  bear — no,  you  can  never 
know  my  misery,  for  tongue  cannot  tell  it.  Ob,  the  miserable 
wretch  who  calls  himself  my  father,  is  not  satisfied  with  scan¬ 
dalizing — lowering  you  in  every  respect  to  hurt  and  mortify 
me  as  much  as  he  can  :  and  because  I  said  you  were  as  white 


42 


more  feeling,  and  more  of  a  gentleman  than  he ;  and  I  cried 
too,  before  him,  -which  must  have  confessed  all ;  for  when  I 
looked  at  him  he  looked  pale,  and  oh,  so  angry  !  He  said  ho 
would  lock  me  up,  and  I  should  have  nothing  to  eat  hut  bread 
and  water;  and  oh  !  Heaven  !  would  I  not  be  willing  to  eat 
anything,  or  nothing  almost,  from  him,  than  to  be  with  him. 
Yes,  if  with  those  I  love — oh,  my  God,  who  knows  it — who 
knows  all  things,  knows  I  had  rather  live  in  poverty  with  you, 
if  you  loved  me  and  was  happy.  You  say  you  cannot  live 
thus,  and  I  must  die.  If  he  is  not  kinder  to  me,  I  will  run 
away,  if  I  starve  or  die  on  the  big  road.  This  will  be  my  last 
chance  and  opportunity  of  writing  to  you.  God  wills  it  so, 
and  it  must  be  so,  but  it  is  hard,  very  hard.  You  must  write 
once  again.  I  must  hear  from  you.  It  seems  to  me  I  cannot 
live,  but  sorrow  does  not  kill  the  body,  though  it  may  burden  the 
heart  until  it  breaks.  My  fate  is  hard,  but  I  made  it  myself. 
Farewell,  dearest,  and  forgive  for  all  your  unkindness.  I  have 
tried  to  drive  you  from  me,  but  oh  !  how  near  you  are  to  me  in 
sorrow’s  dark  hour.  IIow  your  wo-begone  face  haunts  me.  I 
never  told  you  how  wretched  I  thought  you  looked.  And  were 
you  indeed  sad,  my  darling  ?  I  thought  it  might  be  my  pale 
and  wretched-looking  self  made  you  so  sad,  and  I  tried  to  be 
cheerful,  but  was  far  from  feeling  so.  But  oh !  the  thought 
would  come,  for  they  say  you  arc  a  hypocrite  and  a  villain  ; 
and  if  I  had  never  loved  so  unconsciously,  I  never  could  have 
felt  so  miserable,  yours  miserably.  If  Pap  treats  me  as  he 
has,  and  I  have  courage,  I’ll  leave  him.  I’ll,  go,  I’ll  bog,  I’ll 
die.  He  said  he  would  be  satisfied  if  I  was  where  he  could 
never  hear  from  me.  If  I  had  fifty  dollars  I  would  go — I 
would  spend  the  last  cent  going  from  him.  Yes,  I  would  go 
as  far  as  it  would  take  me.  Yours — after  reading  you  know 
how  to  write. 

(Signed)  MOLLIE. 

Mountain  View,  April  17,  1858. 

Dear  as  ever , — And  as  ever  kind.  Thoughtful,  most  con¬ 
siderate.  Why  should  I  have  ever  have  thought  otherwiso  ? 


/ 


Surely  I  must  have  been  possessed  of  a  demon — a  fiend  of  all 
the  evil.  I  have  thought  of  and  against  you.  Imaginary 
surely  it  cannot  be,  and  yet  it  were  doing  you  great  injustice 
if  you  are  innocent.  Ob,  darling,  I  would  freely  give  worlds, 
were  they  in  my  possession,  to  know  that  you  were  truly  inno¬ 
cent  of  the  many  charges  in  circulation  against  you.  I  think 
you  can  assist  me  in  clearing  my  mind  of  some  of  these  con¬ 
jectures  supposed  to  be  true.  And  if  you  would  do  so,  please 
send  me  the  gentleman’s  address  you  consigned  Tap’s  apples 
to.  With  what  information  I  could  get  from  him  and  two  or 
three  others,  would  do  me  a  sight  of  good.  My  dearest,  had 
you  only  placed  in  me  that  perfect  confidence  so  requisite  to 
connubial  love  and  happiness,  there  never  could  have  been  this 
estrangement  between  us.  In  speaking  of  your  past  life,  I  do 
not  mean  you  ought  to  have  told  me  all  that  was  bad,  but  the 
had  as  well  as  the  good.  Had  you  told  me  everything,  and 
just  as  it  was,  all  would  have  been  then  just  as  it  should  be  ; 
but  instead,  there  seems  to  be  a  great  barrier  between  us  almost 
insurmountable,  liut  I  tell  you  now,  if  the  fault  be  mine,  my 
happiness  or  misery  shall  make  the  atonement.  I  will  spare 
no  pains  to  find  out  all,  which  I  can  do  without  any  suspicion. 
I  have  been  miserable  for  some  time  before  the  birth  of  my 
boy,  for  reasons  known  to  you.  Oh!  misery,  misery,  eternal 
misery  for  me  !  I  was  always  taught  to  look  upon  novels  as 
fictitious — thoughts  as  imaginary.  My  life  has  been  real  and 
experienced,  yet  it  partakes  of  both  and  tragical  beyond  com¬ 
prehension.  You  for  some  time  have  been  a  dark  enigma  which 
I  cannot  solve.  All  the  world  seems  strange  to  me,  my  own 
family  more  so  than  others.  I  once  thought  of  you  as  my  beau 
ideal  of  perfection.  I  would  to  God  it  were  so  notv.  Spring 
has  come,  my  darling,  and  the  changes  that  have  been  wrought 
since  the  spring  a  year  ago,  arc  almost  inconceivable.  I  hope 
by  summer,  followed  by  winter,  the  change  will  be  much  greater. 
Tell  me,  candidly,  how  would  you  like  to  have  B.  C.  M.  for  a 
nephew  ?  You  had  better  take  me  away — report  says  a  good 
deal,  I  got  the  portfolio  and  its  contents,  you  were  so  kind  to 


44 


send.  I  see  you  are  bound  to  Lave  me  near  you  by  the  depth 
of  gratitude,  if  not  by  love.  Perhaps  you  will  think  gratitude 
but  a  poor  offering.  I  wont  be  a  coquette  any  longer,  but  as 
I  am  always  plain  and  confiding  to  3*011,  I  will  trust  you  with 
both  my  love  and  m3'  gratitude  until  1  call  for  them.  I  am 
expecting  a  letter  from  you  this  evening  with  m3r  ke3r.  You 
scamp,  did  you  not  know  what  a  curiosit3'  I  have.  I  have  seen 
all  without  the  key !  I  expect  Aunt  A.  has  got  that  letter  by 
this  time.  I  wrote  it  all,  but  did  not  sign  my  name  alone ;  for 

I  was  ashamed  to.  S - A - is  nos  home  vet,  but  we  will 

expect  her  soon.  I  hope  3'ou  got  home  safe,  and  for  goodness’ 
sake,  take  off  that  long  face — you’ll  have  so  many  wrinkles  I 
can’t  love  you.  I  seem  as  if*!  have  been  craz3r,  or  not  living, 

but  I  begin  to  feel  like  I  used  to.  Tell  M - I  don’t  intend 

to  write  to  her  any  more.  "Write  to  me  often,  my  darling,  for 
I  get  the  blues  and  am  so  disagreeable  if  I  want  to  hear  from 
you  and  can’t.  The3*  are  calling  me  to  dinner,  and  I  must  be 
in  a  hurry,  for  I  am  blotting  nicely,  you  "see,  cn  this  side.  I 
have  told  you  no  news  in  this  long  letter,  but  all  you  want  to 
know,  I  reckon.  Spring  is  so  happy  and  joyous  in  itself  that 
I  cannot  keep  being  so  too — but,  jo3’ousncss  for  3'our  presence 
is  alwa3's  wanting  when  3'ou  are  absent.  With  a  hast3'  smack 
of  a  kiss,  I  am  3’our  affectionate  little  love. 

(Signed)  MOLLIE. 

Mountain  View,  May  13,  185S. 

Dear  Uncle : — I  scarcely  know  how  to  begin  writing  to 
you,  so  disappointed  and  grieved  as  I  am.  You  must  have 
got  the  last  letter  I  wrote,  before  I  received  your  last.  I 
have  been  waiting  ever  since  to  hear  from  you,  but  as  yet 
in  vain.  Yow  I  would  like  to  hear  from  vou,  and  know 
what  arrangements  3-ou  have  made  for  the  summer.  I  ex¬ 
pect  to  leave  here  soon — this  month,  in  all  probabilitjq  and 
3'ou  must  come  down  or  send  for  Frank,  before  I  leave  ; 
for  I  don’t  intend  going  until  3’ou  do  so.  For  then  3-011  will 
have  no  business  here,  and  no  need  for  coming  afterwards, 
whero  your  feelings,  if  you  have  any,  must  bo  wounded 


and  mortified,  When  yon  were  here  last, - said  you 

would  not  give  her  a  pleasant  answer.  I  have  only  to  ask, 
“what  has  she  done  to  you  ?”  Nothing,  you  must  of  course 

answer.  You  treated - very  kindly — even  as  kind  as 

you  did  me ;  and  what  has  she  done  or  said  to  you,  may  I 
ask?  You  may  answer,  for  I  cannot.  If  she  had  aught 
to  do  and  say  *  *  *  * 

You  have  right  tc  resent  it.  I  remember  you  telling  me 
once  you  were  afraid  I  would  be  jealous  of  of  S —  A — . 
Why  did  you  fear  ?  I  heard  you  say  you  never  kissed  any 
one  you  did  not  want  to.  Why  did  you  refuse  to  kiss  her 
when  you  first  came  ?  It  was  only  to  deceive  me,  which, 
thank  God,  you  cannot  do,  for  you  did  kiss  her  before  you 
left,  I  did  not  see  you,  but  another  did,  and  only  from  a 
desire  to  do  so,  you  kissed  her,  I  suppose.  You  were 
alone,  and  from  that  fact  I  am  inolined  to  belie^p  it.  What 
do  you  think  I  would  have  felt  like,  letting  a  gentleman 
kiss  rue  in  private  !  I  would  have  felt  like  a  guilty,  wicked 
wretch.  Hereafter  I  shall  feel  at  liberty  to  do  just  as  I 
please.  If  she  knew  how  often  you  have  kissed  Charlotte , 
and  old  Miller’s  negroes,  she  would  never  have  allowod  it, 
either,  I  saw  you  as  delightfully  standing  before  Mary, 
at  the  stack-yard,  as  if  you  were  in  the  presence  of  a  queen. 
It  is  an  old  adage— “Judge  a  person  by  the  company  he 
keeps.”  I  have  only  to  say,  you  aro  the  fondest  person  of 
negroes’  company  I  ever  saw.  Oh,  man  !  if  you  only  knew 
how  little  I  think  of  you,  and  how  mean  I  think  you  are, 
you  would  never  look  at  me,  come  near  me,  hear  me,  or 
*****  me<  You  need  never  write  as  you  have  written  to 
me.  I  will  be  ashamed  of  the  letters,  as  I  am  already. 
Oh  !  I’m  so  sorry  you  sent  mo  that  ring  and  portfolio. 
When  Aunt  A.  comes  down  I  will  send  them  to.  you,  or 
give  them  to  any  one  you  will  name.  I  have  found  out  a 
good  deal,  and  would  like  for  you  to  know  how  I  did  so  ; 
but  it  will  take  too  much  time  and  paper  to  write.  And  I 
never  want  to  look  at  you,  if  I  should  have  an  opportunity. 


1  hear  a  great  many  things  I  thought  you  had  nover  anid 
to  any  one  but  me.  You  can  'come  for  Frank  as  soon 
you  please,  for  all  here  dislike  him.  He  is  such  a  nasty 
little  liar  that  no  one  ever  can  like  him.  Perhaps  it  is  a 
good  thing.  You  know  what  I  would  sa}’  for  anything  that 
takes  after  you — had  better  be  dead  than  alive.  You  can 
tell  his  mama  all  her  meanness  has  come  home — a  negro 
has  been  too  good  to  whip  her  child.  I  have  got  revenge 
without  seeking  it.  Aunt  Becky  desired  me  to  ’say,  that 
if  you  were  only  going  to  stay  a  week  or  two,  you  had 
better  come  the  last  of  the  month,  as  uncle  Gussy  is  ex¬ 
pected  on  or  about  that  time.  B - J - went  for  him. 

lie  wrote  he  was  very  sick,  and  wanted  some  one  to  come 
for  him.  He  will  be  on  as  soon  as  he  is  able. 

(Signed)  MARY  E.  SHREVE. 

P.  S. — I  want  you  to  send  me  mv  letters.  If  you  are  in 
any  respect  a  gentleman,  you  will  do  it,  and  I  shall  do  the 
same.  Y'ou  need  not  pretend  you  never  received  this.  I 
expect  to  hear  you  didn’t  get  the  one  I  wrote  before  this, 
but  it’s  no  use.  I  shall  expect  the  contents  of  this  letter 
complied  with  immediately.  You  promised  me  once  to 
always  let  me  know  when  you  were  coming  to  Loudoun, 
but  it  wasn't  so. 

Mountain  View,  Jan.  11,  1858. 

Dearest  Uncle:-— You  no  doubt  remember  the  request 
you  made  of  me  to  let  you  know  the  opinions  of  the  people 
about  you,  uninterestedly  «nd  in  full  : — so  you  shall  have 
it.  AYords  can  hardly  express  the  meanness  the)-  suppose 
you  to  possess.  For  instance,  a  gentleman  says,  “he  never 
would  have  let  a  daughter  of  his  visited  your  house.” 
Another  told  Pap  he  would  have  to  drive  you  from  his 
house.  Pap  was  told  I. was  in  a  family  way.  He  made  a 
will — cut  me  oft- — said  I  should  not  come  home  to  live. 
Had  I  have  known  this,  and  that  you  were  what  you  pro- 
tended  to  be,  a  friend,  I  never  would  have  come.  Pap  has 
gince  used  your  name,  speaking  to  and  concerning  me,  very 


47 


handily.  None  of  this,  or  other  things  I  hear,  would  have 
any  weight,  but  you  know  how  harshly  I  have  judged  you 
myself.  Now,  uncle  James,  if  I  was  the  mean,  low,  dirty 
vagabond  and  outcast  that  people  speak  of,  curse  and  detest 
* — whose  very  name  the  dregs  of  creation  think  a  disgrace 
to  handle,  I  would  reform.  I  would  try  and  gain  that  space 
in  society  which  is  void  without  you.  I  would  like  to  be¬ 
friend  you — aye,  I  should  like  to  speak  well  of  you,  but  can 
I,  when  the  public  are  down  on  you.  Appearances  cer¬ 
tainly  are  against  you.  What  I  hear  almost  maddens  me, 
so  much — so  much,  I  know  nothing  of - so  incompre¬ 

hensible,  and  yet  apparently  so  full  of  meaning.  Oh  !  if 
some  reports  were  circulated  about  me,  I  never  would  go 
into  company.  I  don’t  think  .1  will  while  appearances  are 
as  they  are.  I  would  come  amongst  them — I  would  estab¬ 
lish  my  character,  cost  what  it  might.  The  very  men  I’ve 
heard  you  speak  of  going  to  bad  houses  and  dirty  places, 
rail  out  against  you,  and  you  against  them  !  Oh,  what  can 
it  mean  ?  Oh,  Virtue  !  thou  hast  so  many  charms,  and 
without  thee  how  loathsome  must  be  life — how  very  despi¬ 
cable  must  he  existence  ! 

Don’t  be  angry,  darling  ;  for  how  can  I  write  differently 
without  deceiving  you  ;  and  to  do  that,  is  what  I  have  nev¬ 
er  done.  If  I  could  but  think  different,  you  surely  must 
know  my  feelings.  Oh,  the  change  would  be  bliss.  S — • 

and  C - -  came  up  three  or  four  .days.  We  all  went  over 

to  Cousin  D - 's.  We  danced  and  had  some  fun,  hut  I 

was  angry  with  myself  for  the  enjoyment  I  never  expected 
to  have  with  those  I  once  so  much  desired  to  be  with. — 
Frank  is  well,  and  doing  well.  The  little  fellow,  I  believe, 
would  like  to  go  about ;  and  I  would  like  to  take  him,  hut 

I  cannot.  I - II - told  uncle  G - the  circumstances 

that  happened  up  there.  I  have  never  told  my  suspicions 

concerning  you  to  any  one  hut - ,  and  she  is  all  I  am 

likely  to  tell  them  to.  Write  soon,  and  tell  me  all,  without 
reserve,  as  I  have  done  by  you.  No  one  shall  see  your  let- 


48 


tors.  I  love  you  yet,  but  that  love  ia  a  burden  and  a  misery 
to  me  ;  for  I  never  can  enjoy  you  more.  I  have  only  to 
forget  and  think  of  you  as  the  husband  of  another.  It  is 
hard,  but  I  have  already  borne  as  much.  I  would  like  to 
see  you  sometimes,  but  only  for  a  short  time,  and  when  you 
write,  tell  me  when  you  are  coming.  Bring  Milt  with  you, 
or  whoever  you  choose.  I  will  do  everything  I  can  to  make 

their  visit  agreeable.  Cousin  G -  is  dead,  and  buried. 

D - stopped  the  evening  he  came  by.  He  is  as  pleasant 

as  ever.  Give  my  love  to  all  enquiring  friends,  which  wont 
be  many — you  alone  preserve  my  love — and  my  very  best 
respects  to  Dr.  Kinsey.  I  would  hate  for  this  to  reach 
Washington  while  you  are  in  Fredericksburg.  From  one 
who  cannot,  but  would  like  to  claim  the  place  of.  wife  only. 
W  rite  soon,  and  a  long  letter.  Yours, 

(Signed)  MOLLIE. 

Mountain  View,  March,  1858. 

Dearest: — I  shall  leave  home  to-morrow,  in  all  probabil¬ 
ity,  to  visit  Aunt  Mary  and  Uncle  Frank,  and  not  knowing 
when  I  shall  return,  I  thought  it  would  be  prudent  for  me 
to  write  to  you  before  going.  All  is  right,  and  thank  God 
for  it.  Oh,  how  great  my  trials  are,  and  always  will  be  ! 
Dr.  F  ■ ' ■  will  attend  me  no  longer,  for  ho  or  no  one  else 
can  do  me  any  good  whilst  1  labor  under  the  present  ex¬ 
citement  of  circumstances.  I  have  made  up  my  mind, 
darling,  never  to  sec  you  again,  until  I  can  claim  a  rightto 
treat  you  in  some  respect  as  I  would  wish  to  treat  you,  and 
none  other.  If  the  tie  by  law  was  broken  which  binds  you 
to  another,  I  would  brave  the  anger  of  friends — all,  every 
one  ;  but  to  that  add  disgrace — it  is  hard,  too  hard.  I  be¬ 
lieve,  dearest,  the  law  is  all  that  separates  us  ;  in  every  other 
respect  you  are  mine;  but  enough  of  this.  I  would  have 
had  plenty  of  time  to  have  said  this,  and  perhaps  never 
have  came  to  have  said  it  at  all.  Let  despair  be  ever  so 
dark,  there  i?  hope  beyond,  though  I  sometimes  think  dif- 


fereutly.  Pap  went  to  Frederick^  to  get  Lis  eloverseed,  on 
Tuesday,  and  wc  Had  a  Houseful  of  company.  *  *  come 
home.  *  *  *  *  were  the  ladies  who  came  witli  Her.  C.  T. 
E.  and  Billy  T.  were  the  gentlemen. 

If  J.  E.  sees  this  letter,  lie  wont  think  it  looks  suspicious 
or  not,  because  the  paper  is  so  fine.  I  never  intend  to  write 
to  you  so  carelessly  again.  Wc  ought  to  keep  one  anoth¬ 
er’s  letters  to  look  at  in  after  years  ;  but  Have  I  not  scen’as 
affectionate  writing  to  another  as  you  ever  can  write  to  me  ? 
OH,  How  much  I  wish  I  could  forget  what  I  already  know, 
and  commence  a  life  of  reality  and  profit.  I  never  intend 
to  go  with  you  until  after  the  death  of, Aunt,  unless  yon 
get  a  divorce.  You  would  go  to  Kentucky”,  and  stayr  twelve 
months  and  a  day.  The  law  would  then  grant  you  the 
privilege  of  choosing  another  bride.  The  very  idea  of 
such  a  thing  appears  wicked.  I  wonder,  poor  woman,  if 
she  suspects  'the  sorrows  in  store  for  her.  And  for  me, 
sometimes  when  I  think  of  our  plans,  how  wicked  and  sin¬ 
ful  they  are.  I  almost  say,  I’ll  do  no  such  thing;  hut, 
then,  if  1  were  to  many  another,  1  never  could  love  him  like 
S  love  you.  Do  you  think  1  could  ?  If  1  can  teach  school 
this  summer,  1  will  have  something  to  employ’  myself  with 
besides  nonsense,  (now  wont  1?)  besides  the  profit  in  the 
end.  You  will  not  write  to  me,  of  course,  until  1  write  to 
you  again.  From  your  loving 

(Signed)  LITTLE  MOLLIE. 

Think  of  me  often,  darling,  as  1  shall  of  you.  1  have 
your  knife.  Don’t,  I  pray,  let  it  destroy  the  love  that  exists 
between  us.  Perhaps  it  is  not  much,  but  it  is  very  sweet 
— it  feels  so  to  me.  1  remain  as  1  always  shall,  your  foolish 
little  girl. 

Mountain  View,  May  28,  1857. 

Dearest  Uncle; — You  surely  must  know  or  have  some 
idea  of  my  present  trials.  I  was  very  sorry  you  trusted  a 
second  letter  to  me,  indeed.  I  do  not  know  but  what  the 
last  was  read  before  I  got  it,  and  the  very  day  Pap  brought 


too 


it  from  the  office,  for  he  attends  regularly  lately.;  lie  kept 
my  other  fully  a.  week  in  his  pocket,  before  I  got.  it.  Well, 
must  I  tell  yon  all  ? — yes,  unreservedly.  I  fear — I  really 
do — my  letters  have  been  taken  from  my  portfolio,  and'  re¬ 
placed  after  being  read  ;  but  1  have  them  safe  now.  ]  have 
made  a  little  bag-put  my  letters  in  and  sewed  them  up, 
and  with  my  key  fastened  them  to  your  guard,  and  wear 

them  about  my  neck  always.  Miss-  S - is  my  greatest 

enemy,  who  at  one  time  1  thought  would  he  a  friend.  She 
provoked  a  quarrel  with  Pap,  to  effect  her  end,  and  he  got 
up  from  the  table,  saying  “he  had  a  very  trifling  set  of 
daughters/’  to  which  she  replied  b}-  saying,  “only  one  was 
lower  and  more  degrading  than  the  rest,  and  if  she  had 
done  as  that  one  had  clone,  slic’d  go.  hang  herself/’  Pap 
left  the  house,  saying  “he  cosh?  never  see  one  moment’s 
happiness  again.”  Oh  !  the  mean,  hateful  wretch  kept  her 

seat,  looking  as  proud  and - as  if  she  had  been  doing 

ji  Gpd-likc  act;  but  she  has  not  succeeded  in  accomplishing 
her  object,  for  Pap  treats  me  as  kind  as  ever — if  anything, 
more  so.  Poor  man,  he  seems  to  suffer,  so  do  not  think 
harshly  of  him.  I  told  him  not  to  listen,  lie  was  one 

could  say  if  1  had  ever  acted  so  badly ;  Miss - said  one 

could— meaning  you.  1  said  1  would  write  to  you  to  come 
and  say  it,  if  you  would,  to  which  she  replied,  ‘•‘■yon  should 
not  come  in  the  house  if  she  were  here-,  and  Pap  in  the 
same  hr, path  said,  “if  you  come  he  would  eat  yonr  d — d 
throat  from  car  to  car.”  It  is  very  unrefined,  and  something 

1  never  said  myself.  She  called  me  a  - — - ,  said  1  was 

more  like  aunt  Mary's  Maria  than  any  one  she  knew.  She 
purely  never  meant  what  sire  said,  for  1  think  1  am  unlike 
her  as  she  herself,  as  honorable  as  she  pretends  to  be. — 
Uncle,  dear,  1  do  not  want  you  to  think  of  what  you  pro¬ 
pose.  1  never  can  think  of  making  Pap  more  miserable 
and  wretched  than  he  is.  Do  not  try  to  arouse  me,  for  1  am 
at  present  more  resigned  than  1  ever  thought  1  could  be, 

*'<  f  • 


51 


« 


We  are  both  .young  and  can  wait,  but  if  your  worldly  mat¬ 
ters  are  sufficiently  unembarrassed,  1  would  like  you  to  go 
forth  in  the  world  on  your  first  footing,  and  prepare  ns  a 
borne — one  to  our  taste,  not  one  of  luxury  or  of  poverty, 
but  a  neat,  comfortable  living.  In  utter  poverty,  with  my 
fiealth  as  it  is  1  ikely  to  be  for  years — so  long  .as  1  remain 
single,  1  would  be  a  drudge  and  a  burden  on  your  hands, 
though  1  dread  not  willing  labor.  Sometimes,  1  think,  per¬ 
haps,  you  would  lure  me  away  to  mistreat  me  for  revenge 
or  for  pique.  Oh,  man,  take  me  not  if  you  cannot  give 
your  whole  heart,  your  thoughts,  your  all  !  Without  these 
1  would  be  equally  miserable  as  from  you.  You  must  not 
fear  if  you  should  go  and  was  unsuccessful,  which  would 
require  a  long  time  for  success  of  my  inconstancy,  for,  be¬ 
lieve  me,  I  have  suffered  so  much  already  for  my  sins  to 
keep  others  on  my  conscience  by  marrying  while  you  live. 
No,  1  never  shall.  Pap  has  returned  with  a  squirrel,  so  1 
must  stop.  Ne  gave  me  the  squirrel  to  skin  and  clean.  1 

did  not  know  how  to  commence,  but  - *  instructed  me, 

and  1  got  through  admirably.  While  1  was  washing  it,  1 

heard  Miss - quarreling  with  Pap.  She  is  not  satisfied, 

nor  wont  be  until  she  gets  him  angry  with  me.  I  wrote  on 
this  sheet  of  foolscap  because  1  thought  1  had  enough  to 
write  to  fill  it,  hut  Pap  interrupting  me,  and  other  things, 
1  have  almost  forgotten  what  1  intended  to  say.  M.  J.  is 
very  mean.  She  has  never  written  to  me  yet.  1  thought  j. 
would  direct  my  letters  1  write  hereafter  to  you,  to  M.  J., 
if  you  approve,  for  1  will  be  watched,  and  closely.  1  don’t 
know  what  to  do  with  this  letter  before  1  have  an  opportu¬ 
nity  of  mailing  it.  1  would  like  to  send  it  to  Leesburg,  or 
the  Point.  1  would  send  you  an  envelope  in  this,  directed 
$o  myself,  hut  you  can  get  Dr?  Kinsey  to  direct  just  one  for 
you  ;  then  you  must  always  send  one  in  your  letters  not 
directed,  hccauso  they  all  know  your  writing.  I  wish  yoq 
would  let  me  know  if  the  people  over  there  over  say  anything 
about  me.  J.  II.  is  a  villain  to  tell  such  things  as  he  to] 4 


* 


52 


Uncle  G - .  Uncle  G - is  not  expected  for  two  months. 

He  is  better.  Aunt  A.  had  better  wait  until  she  comes — 
then  she  will  be  sure  of  sceingjbim,  for  there  is  no  certainty 
when  he  will  come.  Write  me  also  what  Aunt  A.  thinks 
of  me  now.  If  bad  as  ever,  1  would  rather  her  not  come 
to  Loudoun,  as  long  as  can  be  prevented.  That  was  a  grand 
scrawl  you  sent  me.  1  will  actually  be  jealous  if  you  can 
spare  so  few  moments  to  think  of  me,  for  1  believe  you  al¬ 
ways  write  in  a  hurry,  or  leave  out  something.  If  it  takes 
four  sheets  to  contain  all  you  would  tell  me,  don’t  send  the 
letter  until  you  have  said  all.  Write  me  if  you  put  a  seal 
on  your  last  letter.  It  had  one  on  it,  and  1  thought  it  looked 
like  it  had  been  opened.  1  wish,  uncle,  you  would  get  me 
tlirfee  boxes  of  Holloway’s  pills.  It  seems  as  if  they  used 
to  do  me  good.  Perhaps  it  was  only  imaginary  ;  if  you 
think  so,  don’t  get  them  ;  but  1  am  so  pale,  1  would  like  to 
bave  somethino;  to  make  me  have  some  color.  1  think  some 
strong  bitters  would  be  best  for  me — my  bowels  are  never 
regular.  Pap  lias  propiised  to  get  me  some  vegetable  pills, 
but  be  frequently  neglects  it.  1  believe  it  is  wbat  makes 
me  have  the  head-ache  so  much,  and  feel  so  dull.  I  have 
three  dollars  and  a  half,  with  Frank’s  money,  keeping  for  a 

rainy  day.  Uncle  F - -  and  Aunt  M - gave  it  to  me. 

1  was  very  provoked  when  1  was  so  out-done  about  teaching 
school.  1  am  so  sorry  Frank  is  not  an  interesting  child. 
Ho  one  seems  to  notice  him.  All  bore  despise  him.  Then 
be  is  so  dirty,  lie  always  trys  to  slip  off  to  bed  without 
washing  his  feet.  1  have  made  him  a  pair  of  pants  and 
jacket,  aud  intend  getting  him  a  straw  bat  as  soon  as  1  get 
to  the  store.  If  be  was  only  refined  and  modest — but  you 
bave  no  idea  of  the  vulgarity  be  knows.  You  will  not  thank 
me  for  this — nor  bis  mother,  wlio  thinks  be  has  looks  and 
sense  enough  to  carry  him  along  ;  but  1  would  advise  you  to 
be  more  particular  in  raising  your  children.  They  all  know 
too  much  of  wbat  they  ought  not  to  know. 

I  must  stop  and  finish  another  time.  I  have  not  got  my  summe 


dresses  yet — or  have  I  needed  them,  for  it  has  been  too  cold.  1 
hare  got  a  tolerable  supply  of  under-clothes.  7  wish  you’d  writp 
to  Pap,  not  urgently  either  way — give  him  the  news,  besides  enquire 
as  usual  after  the  health  of  the  family.  He  is  always  asking  me  if 
you  wrote  to  me,  what  you  had  to  write  about,  and  many  other  ques¬ 
tions  that  7  am  not  able  to  answer  satisfactorily.  He  said  the  other 
day,  whoever  liked  you  liked  the  Devil,  for  he  knew  you  to  be  a 
d — nd  liar  himself.  The  latter  you  cannot  contradict,  for  7  have  of¬ 
ten  caught  you  in  many — a  heap  7  nevor  told  you  of,  for  7  thought 
it  of  no  use  : — You  alwa}-s  had  some  unsatisfactory  way  of  getting 
out  of  them,  which  always  led  me  to  doubt,  your  ideas  were  much 
clearer  than  you  supposed  them  to  be.  Pap  has  heard  things  he 
keeps  to  himself,  for  he  said,  speaking  of  you,  it  would  all  be  known 
for  a  great  many  were  interested.  What  he  meant  7  do  not  know, 
for  7  had  not  the  courage  to  ask  for  fear  it  was  something  worse  than 
7  have  yet  heard.  He  has  such  a  way  of  asking  questions  about 
you  when  we  are  alone,  7hate  to  be  with  him  alone.  He  said  too, 

you  had  done  a  meaner  act - than  highway  robbery - to  have 

a  motherless  child  so  scandalized.  7  have  told  you  all  now,  so  if  you 
think  proper  you  will  know  how  to  write  to  him.  Write  soon — Your» 

(Signed)  M.  E.  SKREVE. 

Write  all  you  can  in  your  answer,  for  we  had  better  stop  writing 
for  awhile.  1  would  like  to  know  what  people  are  saying  about  ms 
here,  but  7  dread  to  enquire.  Yours  truly. 

EXECUTION  OF  THE  PRISONER* 

On  the  morning  of  the  1 3th  inst.,  the  clay  fixed  for  his  execution  i 
we  visited  the  prisoner  in  jail.  He  persisted  that  his  life  had  been 
falsely  sworn  away — that  he  cared  not  for  his  fate — he  w'as  prepared 
to  meet  it,  and  hoped  his  nerves  would  not  fail  him  on  the  occasion. 
In  the  meantime  he  called  for  brandy,  which  was  supplied  him,  and 
of  which  he  drank  freely,  though  without  visible  effect.  7n  the 
interval,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  of  the  M.  E.  Church,  arrived  at 
the  prison  ;  but  the  convict  appeared  to  manifest  an  indifference  to 
any  interview  with  him.  He  only  conversed  with  him  in  a  low 
whisper  a  short  time  before  being  conducted  to  the  place  of  execu¬ 
tion.  The  principal  portion  of  his  time,  up  to  the  hour  of  being  led 


5i 


6ut  of  prison,  was  devoted  to  giving  directions  in  regard  to  the  ma'rr- 
agement  and  arrangement  of  his  personal  matters.  The  hour  fixed 
for  his  execution  was  12  o’clock,  iM . .  but  at  his  earnest  solicitation, 
Ad  the  kindness  of  Wm.  G.  Miller,  Esq.,  the  Sheriff  of  the  county 
X  further  time  of  near  an  hour  was  granted,  to  allow  him  time  to’ 
transact  business  and  write  a  sealed  note,  not  to  be  opened  until  after 
Ms  death,  /is  purport  was  simply  in  regard  to  the  disposition  of  hia 
body,  and  some  other  immaterial  matters. 

.Near  1  o'clock,  the  cortege  left  the  jail,  guarded  by  a  volunteer 
Corps  of  musketry,  under  Captains  T.  B.  M assfe  and  Swindler,  h 
is  said  that  near  five  thousand  persons  were  present,  and  it  was  with 
the  utmo.-t  difficulty  that  order  could  oe  preserved.  But  for  the  pre¬ 
caution  of  the  guard  in  affixing  bayonets  to  their  guns,  they  would 
doubtless  have  been  trampled  on  by  the  dense  crown]  of  horsemen 
in  their  rear.  The  prisoner  was  placed  in  the.  hollow  square  formed 
by  the  guard,  and  accompanied  by  the  Sheriffs,  their  posse,  and  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  who,  when  about  leaving  the  jail,  was  requested 
by  the  prisoner  to  accompany  him  to  the  place  of  execution.  Being 
arrived  there,  he  ascended  to  the  platform  with  a  firm  step,  and  after* 
A  short  prayer  by  the  minister,  was  informed  that  if  he  had  anything 
to  say  a  sufficient  time  would  be  allowed  him  lor  the  purpose.  He. 
fumed  at  once  to  (he  hundreds  by  whom  lie  was  surrounded,  and  in' 
a  clear  and  distinct  tone  of  voice,  manifesting  neither  fear  or  excite¬ 
ment,  spoke  as  follows  ;  or  in  words  to  the  effect  that  he  appeared 
before  them  to-day  as  a  man  whose  doom  was  fixed,  and  who  had 
but  a  few  moments  to  sojourn  on  this  earth  ;  but  he  wished  to  say  a 
few  words  in  his  own  delence.  He  protested  'hat  he  was  guilty  of 
fhe  murder  of  his  wife — said  that  his  life  had  been  falsely  sworn 
aWay  through  prejudice  and  ill  will  on  the  part  of  some  of  his  en¬ 
emies,  and  That  they  bad  created  a  feeling  of  popular  excitement 
against  him  which  had  aided  materially  in  bringing  him  to  bis  pres¬ 
ent  sad  fate.  He  conceded  that  be  had  had  a  fair  and  impartial  trial 
by  the  jury — be  blamed  not  them,  but  there  were  witnesses  who  had 
sworn  falsely  against  him,  and  he  would  name  them.  (Here  the 
prisoner  enumerated  several.)  Other  witnesses  had  also  told  all  they 
knew  or  thought  would  operate  to  his  detriment,  carefully  withhold-' 
to*  anything  which  would  speak  in  his  behalf.  He  was  not  the 
murderer  of  his  wife  —he  did  not  give  her  the  strychnia, — he  believed 
fhat  his  own  life  had  been  in  danger  from  the  machinations  of  her 
friends,  and  the  crime  was  committed  by  orte  of  a  darker  hue  than 
himself — (evidently  alluding  to  a  servant  g:rl  on  his  place.)  As  to 
his  friends  in  Loudoun,  he  had  but  little  to  say.  The  young  lady 
whose  name  had  been  so  freely  spoken  of  in  connection  with  his, 
was  innocent  of  man}'  of  the  charges  preferred  against  her — though 
chargeable  with  some. 

The  prisoner  then  turned  to  Sheriff  Jliiller,  and  said  “he  wat? 
ready.’’  The  noose  was  adjusted  about  his  neck,  the  trap  sprung, 
and  the  unfortunate  being  was  launched  into  eternity. 


'K,  -1  tat  is' S' 


CTtavBgs 


